


Hold me tight and fear me not

by Vanimelda4



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Tam Lin (Traditional Ballad)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Ballad 39: Tam Lin, Kilts, M/M, Magical Realism, Mpreg, Scotland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-06-26 00:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15652026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanimelda4/pseuds/Vanimelda4
Summary: A Sherlock AU loosely based on the ballad of Tam Lin because my love for Tam Lin runs deep.John is the omega son of the lord of Carterhaugh. He will turn 18 soon and his father will force him to bond with one of the alpha lords of the surrounding areas.Bonding is literally the last thing John wants to do though. He would rather ride his horse and have adventures.On one of these trips he meets a strange alpha named "Sherlock".John and Sherlock hit it off, but who is Sherlock really, what secrets is he hiding and will they be able to get their happily ever after?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since there is a pregnancy in Tam Lin I decided to write this as an Alpha/Omega story.  
> Don't like mpreg? Then the rest might not be your cup of tea....
> 
> I've been desperately wanting a Sherlock/ Tam Lin cross-over since forever and I've not been able to find one so I decided to write one myself.  
> Is there even anyone else who craves this like I do?

John Watson was riding his horse across the fields of Carterhaugh.  
He had ridden across these fields countless times before.  
Sometimes galloping across the open terrain as fast as he could, his horse's nostrils flaring as both their breaths became labored. Forming clouds of hot steam as the cold early morning air stung his face and John laughed until his lungs hurt. 

On other occasions he would go at a more leisurely pace. Turning his horse this way and that. Trotting along slowly. Seeking the shade of the trees and hills to eventually make his way to Ettrick Water where he would doze on its banks surrounded by the smell of wildflowers as the sun warmed his limbs and the rushing of the river sang him to sleep. 

Today was not a day of leisure. He could not afford to go slow.  
Today, he wasn't laughing either. 

An all too familiar feeling had started to creep underneath his skin and was making him feel as if he was a stranger in his own flesh. As if he was wearing borrowed clothes. Like a jacket that was too tight and he couldn't wait to tear it off. 

John shivered as he felt a slow trickle of sweat drip down his back. With a shout and a swift kick to its flanks he spurred his horse on to go even faster, but as the horse sped up on the uneven terrain John was jostled in the saddle most violently and, spurred on by the movement, another unwelcome wetness was starting to make itself known at his backside. 

His heat was very close. 

John swore underneath his breath, the wind rushing by stealing the words from him, and with one hand still tightly on the reins he used his other to wipe the sweat from his eyes.  
He had been in heat before. Of course he had. But this time it was different.  
His father's threats still echoed through his mind. He was eighteen now. Eighteen and the omega son of the lord of Carterhaugh. This time he would share his heat with one of the alpha lords of the surrounding counties and bond with them. This union would ensure the Watson family even more wealth, land and power over the area.  
As far as politics went it was the right thing to do.  
It felt wrong.  
John was terrified. He did not wish to bond. Ever.  
Right now he had his freedom. He could ride out whenever he wanted. He could swim in the rivers. Hunt in Carterhaugh's forests. Drive his horse on until he felt giddy with the excitement of speed and dizzy from the vast openness of the world and all he had yet to discover. 

Once he became a bonded omega he could do none of those things. Especially not if he bonded to one of the lords. An omega was far too valuable a possession to have them riding around the countryside unattended. All on their own.  
Once the bond-bite was given he'd be tucked away in some castle. Used whenever he was in heat until he had produced the correct number of heirs. The bite-scars on his neck as close to an actual chain as could be.  
He had made himself no illusions that he might find an alpha who would be understanding and grant him liberties.  
He had met the lords of the surrounding lands. All of them alpha's at their finest. Aggressive, possessive and cruel. 

There was only one alpha he could trust now and he was making his way to him as fast as he could.  
And as John spurred his horse on once again his stomach cramped, his vision went blurry and he groaned as another rush of wetness made itself knows between his legs.  
He prayed to every god he knew that he would get there in time. 

***************

**5 months earlier**

It was an exceptionally warm day. There were no clouds in the sky and the sun beat down on John Watson's head and neck as he slowly made his way across the open fields of Carterhaugh on horseback.  
He had once again snuck away from under his father's watchful eyes to go out riding, but as sweat dripped into his eyes and his clothing stuck to his flesh he was starting to regret his truancy.

His horse was having a difficult time as well. Its head low to the ground and every breath it took just as labored as the next as its hooves scraped the ground with every pace.  
John patted the side of its neck reassuringly.  
He had originally planned to ride all the way to the river, but with the sun torturing them both so violently on the open plains that lay in between Carterhaugh Castle and their goal he had decided to make for the wooded area to the north instead where they would be able to find some shade much sooner.

It was an area where John hadn't really been before. There were old ruins there and the old folktales told that they were the ruins of an old fairy castle and those who were to travel there would run the risk of being captured by the fairy queen...... or some nonsense like that.  
John didn't really believe in old-wives tales. He was a practical man who believed in what he saw and, so far, fairies did not feature on that list. 

So he slowly made his way towards the tree-line as the Scottish sun tried to burn him alive. 

He heaved a sigh of relief when finally trees started to appear on his left and right and under their leaf filled branches the heat did not feel quite so murderous anymore.  
Another couple of hundred meters further the trees started growing denser still and the climate underneath them actually turned pleasantly cool.  
Small flowers sprung up all over the ground. Protected by the much larger flora that surrounded them. The sound of birds singing could be heard on all sides and to his right John could faintly hear the sound of a small forest brook.  
He decided to dismount and, leading his horse by the reins, made his way on foot towards the welcome sound of moving water. 

The brook was beautiful.

The tall trees grew all the way to its edge and as their mighty bows swayed in the wind above the water the sunlight that filtered down through the moving leaves made a dazzling spectacle on the gently flowing water beneath.  
Like diamonds in motion. 

John laughed excitedly, kicked of his boots, hoisted up his kilt and waded in until the water reached the middle of his thighs. 

It was colder than he had expected and his skin turned into goosebumps. He didn't mind much. After the heat of the day it was a welcome cold.  
Still laughing he lent down to the surface and splashed two handfuls of water on his face and down his neck before drinking his fill.  
Letting the clear water cool him down inside and out.  
His horse stood just on the edge of the water whinnying at him nervously.  
John laughed again. Softer this time, so as not to frighten it again. 

'Come on then', he said as he extended his hand towards the animal, 'I bet you could use a wee drink too.' 

For a moment the horse hesitated, but soon the soft tone of voice and assuredness of its master calmed it down and it gingerly lowered its neck towards to river to take a well earned sip. 

John smiled and turned his face up towards the light of the sun. The leaves above casting a pattern of wildly moving shadows on his face.  
Today was turning out to be a good day after all. 

*****************************

After some well earned rest John had decided to go and explore the area on foot for a bit. He was curious to see if there even was such a thing as fairy ruins out here.  
He had left his horse loosely tied at the rivers edge so it still had some room to walk around, drink from the water, graze underneath the trees or find some shade.

The terrain was uneven and John had to watch his footing as on more than one occasion the toe of his boot got stuck underneath a tree root hidden by the underbrush almost causing him to fall over. 

He made his way zig-zagging through the trees for almost an hour, but to his disappointment there was no sign of any ruins. There were just more trees, flowers and birds and at one point he even saw a deer shooting away. It had been a beautiful creature with a strange white pattern interwoven with its brown coat. For a moment he had lamented not bringing his bow with him, but the creature had been so fast it would have been gone before he had had an arrow ready and aimed anyway. 

He was about to turn back to his horse and ride back home before his father would get so mad about him leaving that he would lock him in his room for the next couple of days. Which would make sneaking out just a small bit harder. When the trees suddenly made way for a meadow. 

Like the brook the meadow was beautiful and John's jaw dropped slightly at the sight of it.  
Knee high grass waved at him invitingly in a soft breeze and flowers in every color imaginable were dotted across the landscape in mesmerizing patterns. 

He had to explore this almost otherwordly place. 

And so, with a smile on his face he stepped amongst the waving grass as the green blades and flowers tickled the hem of his kilt. 

*********************

While traversing the meadow John soon realized that a lot of the flowers in the meadow were flowers he'd never seen before.  
Being an omega he had been forced to spend a lot of his time indoors studying and botany had been one of the courses his tutors had been forced to teach him. He had been younger then. This had been before he had found out all the ways to secretly sneak out of the castle and go on all kinds of adventures. However hard his father tried to prevent this.

John however did take some pride in his knowledge of the variety of plants that grew in Carterhaugh, but he only recognized an embarrassingly small fraction of the large variety that grew on this strange meadow. 

He recognized some medicinal plants. Used for healing wounds, some could be ground up to make a salve that would cool a burn, others could be ingested when you were experiencing stomach cramps.  
There were also less friendly plants growing along the edge of the field. Toxic flowers. Ingested in large enough amounts they would kill you. And then there was 'Maiden's tear'. Every omega knew the small blue flower with its thorny leaves. Taken in just the right way it could abort an unwanted pregnancy. Take too much......and it would not only take the baby's life, but your own as well. 

John shivered, his thoughts turning to his upcoming 18th birthday and the threat his father had made.  
'Either you choose your own alpha lord of I will choose one for you.' 

He closed his eyes tightly and turned his head away from the 'Maiden's tear'. He did not wish to think on his future problems right now.  
The whole point in sneaking out was to find some kind of escape from them. If only for a little while. 

He made his way back to the center of the meadow in order to examine the flowers there.  
There were a couple more familiar flowers here.  
There was corncockle, some anemones, Cuckoo flowers and corn flowers and he even spotted some red roses.  
Familiar flowers in and of themselves, but they looked quite out of place amidst the variety of wildflowers that grew there. 

He decided to take a closer look and so he knelt down beside them. The grass tickling the inside of his knees and the back of his thighs again as his kilt rode up slightly.  
One rose stood out in particular. It had a vibrant red color that almost seemed to be alive and instead of just having one flower adorn the top of its stem this one had two.  
John had never seen a flower quite like it before and he decided he would take it with him. Maybe press it at home and study it further.  
And so he stretched out his hand and with a firm snap separated the unique flowers and part of their shared stem from the rest of the bush. 

'Do you always go around taking what isn't yours?'

The voice was deep, booming and soft at the same time, like a thunderstorm that hasn't quite started yet, but you can hear coming in the distance.  
Startled, John immediately jumped to his feet at the sound of it and whirled himself around to see who it was that had managed to sneak up on him so.  
As he turned around the smell of alpha immediately accosted his nostrils.  
Silently he cursed himself.  
How had he not noticed the stranger approaching sooner? 

He was all too aware of his current situation.  
He was an unbonded, unarmed omega, all alone in a field, miles away from home and almost an hours walk away from his horse. 

If the stranger tried to overpower him he might not be able to fight him off.

The alpha was tall, but not overly muscular. His body lean and tight. His strength efficiently distributed only in the places that mattered. There was a wild mop of dark curls on top of his head that reminded John somehow of the strange wildflowers that grew all over the meadow. And then there were his eyes. Blue and bright as the sky, but deep as the waters of the Ettrick on a stormy day.  
The stranger had a haughty look about him as he looked John in the eye, his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised questioningly. 

John felt silly clutching the flower in his hand like some maiden, but he was not going to give in to this mysterious stranger quite so easily. He was resolved to stand his ground. 

'I do not believe these flowers belong to you either, sir', he replied lifting his chin defiantly. 

The stranger smiled a half smile, but it was gone before John was even sure it was there.

'I can assure you they do', the man said, 'you are in my lands now.' 

'You are wrong, sir', John's reply, 'we are in Carterhaugh and my father owns these lands. If anything you are the one who is trespassing. And besides, there are many roses here. One more or less will hardly be noticed. Next to my father I am a lord of these lands also and I will not let some wild spirit tell me where I can and cannot go.' 

There now was no mistaking the smile on the stranger's face. 

'What is your name?' 

'John Watson. Yours?' 

'Sherlock'

A moment of silence. 'Just Sherlock?'

'Yes.'

'Fine. Don't do me the courtesy of telling me your full name.'

'I will tell you my full name once you have earned the right to know it.' 

'I will take your rose instead then.'  
The smile on Sherlock's face had reached his eyes and they reminded John of two stars beneath pools of water. There was a smile on John's face too now. 

'You can have it John Watson of Carterhaugh', Sherlock said as he took a step closer. John knew he should feel threatened by the gesture, but somehow he only felt a warm excitement that left a blush on his cheeks.  
In an attempt to hide it he lowered his face and stammered through his words. 

'S..s..since I already know half of your name.....I....I don't think it would be entirely fair to take the entire rose.'  
And with that he carefully separated the two flowers from each other and held one out towards Sherlock. 

Sherlock actually laughed at the gesture. A warm sound that not so much reminded John of an oncoming storm, but of a warm summers day. Clear and bright. 

Sherlock took another step towards him and slowly closed his fingers around the hand that John held extended towards him. 

His touch was warm and surprisingly soft. 

Slowly he pulled the flower from between John's unresisting fingers and slipped it in between the folds of his own jacket. 

'Thank you', he said and it truly sounded like he meant it, 'I will cherish it forever.'

'As you should. It is a gift from the lord of Carterhaugh.'

'Well then.....my lord....would you be so kind as to bestow another gift upon me?' 

The alpha seemed safe enough. If he had wanted to overpower John he could have done so already. He wasn't sure what it was exactly, but Sherlock's presence made him feel calm and relaxed, but this last question did manage to unnerve him just a fraction again. 

'It depends on what you're asking of me...' John replied. Stepping away minutely. 

Sherlock just laughed again. The sound light and his posture unguarded and completely at ease.  
'Just your company for the afternoon', he said, 'it's been a while since I've had someone to share a friendly conversation with.' 

Grinning John stepped closer once again.  
'It would be my pleasure.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John spend more time together.

They were sitting side by side amongst the tall grass.   
John had his legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back on his hands. It was not an easy position to get out of quickly should the need arise, but he was not afraid.   
There was something about Sherlock that instilled in him a sense of calm and security that he had not felt before.   
Had the scent of the alpha startled him at first now he found it strangely intoxicating as it mixed itself with the smell of the countless wildflowers surrounding them. A soft breeze graced the meadow and every now and then a slightly stronger gust of wind would cause the flowers to bend in their direction and ruffle their hair and whenever it happened John would close his eyes and smile as all of his senses were flooded simultaneously with a rich sweetness that felt entirely new and exciting. 

He had asked Sherlock about the strange flowers he had seen and how he hardly recognized any of them.   
Sherlock had knelt down and John had followed him and, as if they had all the time in the world, he had explained to him their names and what use they could have, if indeed they had any.   
The names had sounded odd and foreign to John's ears. He had frowned as he tried to replicate the strange lilt in Sherlock's voice as he pronounced them.   
Sherlock had laughed as he had tried and failed and, very patiently again, had broken down the names in smaller parts to make their pronunciation easier. John had managed to get a couple of them right that time around, but not many.

And now a comfortable silence had fallen over them as they sat side by side enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon sun. Their shoulders almost touching. Separated only by a hair's breadth and the semblance of decorum. 

'What are you....exactly?' John asked, turning his face towards Sherlock as the sunlight reflected off of his blond hair. Making him seem like a golden flower himself. A strange beauty sat amidst a field of other strange and otherwordly things. 

Sherlock looked at him for a while without speaking. 

'Usually bored. Looking for adventures and excitement. Which sometimes gets me in trouble... a lot.' the reply he finally settled on as his eyes glanced from John's lips back to his eyes surrounded by their golden lashes. 

John chuckled at the circumventing answer.   
'Not what I meant.' 

'I know it's not what you meant.' 

Another silence followed until John hazarded: 'are you a fairy?' 

Sherlock said nothing.   
He just cast his eyes down before looking away decidedly and swallowing heavily. 

'I knew it', John said, 'there's just something about you.' 

Now Sherlock turned his face back towards him. A grin pulling up the corners of his mouth.   
'Is there now?'

'Yes. I should have known right away. It would have been impossible for anyone mortal to sneak up on me like you did.' 

'Is it now?' the grin spread even wider, making small creases appear at the edges of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. Somehow it made him look younger.   
A sudden gust of wind, blowing a stray, dark curl across his face only seemed to enhance the effect.   
'Maybe I'm just very sneaky.'

Now it was John's turn to smile as he cast his face down and shook his head.   
'I don't think....' he started saying, but as he looked back up again Sherlock was gone. 

Quickly he got to his feet. Scanning the field. But there was nothing there but the flowers and grass swaying slightly in the breeze and the sound of birds singing to announce the gradually approaching dusk. 

'Sherlock?' he tried. Unsure. 

Still there was no reply but the wind, the birds and the rustling of leaves. 

John felt exposed. All alone in a strange meadow. And once again he was reminded of the fact that he had failed to bring a weapon. 

He was about to call out for Sherlock again when suddenly two hands encircled him from behind and grabbed him loosely around his waist. 

John let out a startled yelp and turned himself around as quickly as he could to get a look at his assailant and get a fair chance of fighting back.   
But in his surprise he turned around a bit too quickly and his left foot caught on a branch lying on the ground, hidden from view between the tall grass.   
He cried out again as he fell forward, taking his assailant down to the ground with him. 

Sherlock's breath left his lungs all at once with a loud “oompf!” as his back hit the ground and John landed heavily on top of his chest. 

As soon as John realized who had startled him like that they were both giggling. 

'Apologies', Sherlock said, 'it was not my intention to frighten you.'   
His hands were loosely folded at the small of John's back. Their legs entwined in between the flattened grass and flowers they had gracelessly landed on as John's hands and right cheek were pressed against Sherlock's chest. 

'Where did you go just now?' his tone of voice full of amazed wonder. 

'The world between worlds. It's a fairy trick.' 

'Can you teach me?' 

'No'

John knew he should get up, but somehow he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. He convinced himself it was because of Sherlock's hands holding him down in the small of his back although there was barely any strength to the grip at all. If he wanted to he could break the loop of the alpha's arms quite easily. If he wanted to....

'Or maybe this is just you being sneaky', he replied. The alpha's scent was must stronger and much sweeter now that his nose was this close to his neck and he had to work hard to suppress the urge to bury his nose there where the smell was strongest. 

All of a sudden Sherlock's body tensed up underneath him and when John lifted his head to see what had been the cause for this sudden change he saw that the soft smile that had been there earlier was completely gone. Sherlock looked very serious and, to John's surprise, just a small bit sad as well. 

'John......' he started saying. Then paused. Looked away. Swallowed. And started his sentence anew. 

'John....I would never make anyone do anything they didn't want.... Especially you.'

John pushed himself up fully now and sat on his knees beside Sherlock. An equally serious look on his own face. 

'I know that', he said. 

Finally Sherlock smiled again, but his eyes were cast down and the laughter lines that had made him look so young and carefree before were nowhere to be seen this time around. 

Another moment of silence passed and just when it seemed he was about to say something more the sound of dogs barking in the distance reached them. 

Sherlock sprang to his feet within seconds and before he realized what was happening he was pulling John up with him.   
Only now that they were standing and whatever had just passed between them seemed to be well and truly gone did John realize how late it had actually gotten.   
No longer was the sky a bright blue with the sun settled directly above them, but, as they had been engrossed in conversation with each other, the sun had continued its inevitable descent down the heavens and now only barely hovered above the horizon. The sky was streaked through with red, orange and purple hues.   
It would have been a beautiful sight if not for the look of panic on Sherlock's face and the sound of barking dogs drawing nearer. 

'You have to go', Sherlock said. His voice barely a whisper, but still sounding too loud in the quickly darkening field. The hint of panic almost visible where it clung to the edges of his words. 

'It's getting late', John's reply. He knew he needed to go. If he arrived home after nightfall his father would be furious....and yet.....he realized his right hand was still held firmly in Sherlock's left.....when had they even reached for each other?......and he could not bring himself to let go.

'Will you return to me someday?' Sherlock asked. Still the hint of panic clung to his every word. 

John nodded.   
'Of course.'

If either of them had wanted to say more their chance to do so was abruptly cut short by the sound of dogs barking and howling getting increasingly louder.   
Finally Sherlock let go of his hand and the second he did so he was gone.

John stayed standing in the meadow where Sherlock had left him for just a couple of moments more, but being there alone with the sky slowly darkening around him and being able to hear the hounds but not see them felt unsettling and wrong.   
And so finally he turned around and made his way back to his horse and then home. 

**************

His father had been furious when he finally arrived back home well after dark. John had tried to explain he had lost track of time while exploring a new part of Carterhaugh. The lands he was to inherit one day. It only stood to reason that he got to know as much about them as he could. He most decidedly did not mention Sherlock, fairies or the strange meadow. 

His father however had not listened to any of his reasons. He had just shouted his own accusations over anything John had to say. 

'You are my only heir!', he had shouted, 'and an omega heir at that! Do you have any idea how unseemly it is for a noble omega to be found riding around without an escort? And after nightfall no less! What if you are found by some common alpha and he takes advantage of you? What then!  
No noble alpha will take you on and bond with you once you've been spoiled.   
You're not only putting yourself at risk, but also the good name, fortune and future of our entire family. You should be ashamed of yourself.   
You're almost eighteen, John!  
Once you turn eighteen you will be bonded and all of this nonsense will stop for good.  
If you want to learn about our lands I suggest you go to our library and look at a map.   
Or...I don't know....ask the geography teacher I hired for you that you never make use of!'

His father's voice thundered in his ears. Every single syllable was filled with rage and fire. From the corners of his eyes he could see a couple of servants make a hasty retreat. 

He had stopped being frightened by his father a long time ago. The only thing he felt now was anger in return.   
His own nothing like the red hot, volatile anger of his father, but more like something cold and hard. Lying in wait. Simmering just beneath the surface. With just enough pressure one of these days the wall he had built around it to contain it would crack and it would all come flooding out. He didn't know what would happen then.   
For now he suppressed it. The nails of his fingers slicing half moons into the palms of his hands as they were bunched into tight fists by his sides. 

'You are not to leave the castle again for the rest of the month'

'What?! You can't do that!' John's head shot up. His mouth opened in disbelief at the unfair punishment. His nails slicing even deeper into the flesh of his palms so as to prevent himself from raising his hands and throwing a punch. That would surely end badly. 

'You dare talk back to me? Even after you clearly disobeyed my wishes for you to stay inside in the first place?'   
John should have known better than to say anything else at this point, but he could feel the wall inside of him cracking and if he didn't let some of the pressure out right now it would soon crumble completely.

'I only wanted to...' was as far as he got before his father's hand made contact with his face. Hard. All the wind was knocked out of him and his cheek stung sharply. It would surely leave a nasty bruise. It would not be the first one. 

'You will go to your rooms and if I see you out of them before tomorrow evening there will be a punishment waiting for you far worse than than any I've ever given you before. Do I make myself clear?'

John nodded, turned around and did as he was told. 

************

John spent the remainder of the month inside the walls of Carterhaugh castle. 

It was hell on earth. 

There was nowhere to go, nothing to do and, on top of that, his father watched him like a hawk. Making sure he went to every single one of his classes. He only managed to fall asleep in three of them. 

John barely registered what his teachers were saying. All he could think of was Sherlock. Sherlock who was an alpha, but who apparently also belonged to the Fey.   
Sherlock who not only possessed the ability to disappear from sight whenever he wanted, but who also seemed to be able to make time go twice as fast when John was around him. 

His teachers seemed to have quite the opposite effect. When he was following his many classes on language, decorum and etiquette time seemed to flow like molasses and he found himself utterly stuck in it.   
His arms and legs heavy where he was slumped behind his desk. His eyelids slowly drooping shut. 

He was pretty sure this was what actual hell was like. 

He wondered if after a month Sherlock would still expect him to return to the meadow.   
Was a month too long?  
Would Sherlock still remember him?   
Maybe someone else had passed by in the meantime as well.....was Sherlock talking to them now? Teaching them the right pronunciation of all the strange flowers that grew in the meadow. He remembered the feeling of Sherlock's arms wrapped loosely around his waist and all of a sudden he felt warm all over. He wasn't sure why. 

One of his teachers had asked him a question. He hadn't been listening.   
The teacher repeated the question and scolded him for having to do so. 

John didn't care. 

He sighed and tried looking out the window, but the room they were in was too high up and the window was too small for him to see anything but a partly clouded sky. 

John desperately wanted to go outside. Feel the sun on his face again. The wind rushing past, leaving him breathless. The feeling of his horse between his thighs, clinging to it tightly as they thundered across the landscape. An explosion of power and speed and freedom. 

He also desperately wanted to see the meadow again. It had been so calm, serene, beautiful and not of this world. It fascinated and excited him to no end.   
And Sherlock. His thoughts were on Sherlock once again. How the blue of his eyes reminded him of the water and sky of the highlands. How his curls framed his face as the wind jostled them just so. How the baritone rumble of his voice had seemed to hum in harmony with the beating of his own pulse. How the smell of him had mingled oh so sweetly with the fresh scent of wildflowers all around them...

John sighed again. 

'Am I boring you, John?', his teacher on omega etiquette asked. 

'No, sir.'

John tried to concentrate on his classes once again and the slow molasses-like flow of time seemed to trickle to a halt completely.

As soon as the teacher turned his back to him John sighed once more. 

It was going to be a long month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't think anyone would read this, but lo and behold there are actually people besides me who want to see this happen. So here is chapter 2 to show you all I am dead serious about this being a thing. 
> 
> If you are looking for an accurate Tam Lin adaptation: this is not it. I will deviate from the original story from time to time to fit the characters and setting.   
> There is a major deviation in this chapter already. In the original Janet and Tam Lin do the do immediately on their first meeting. For this story that felt a bit too rushed for me. In an actual multi-chapter story you have more time to build up towards those things than in a ballad. So rest assured if you're here for that, it will happen....eventually. 
> 
> I also feel like I need to explain the barking dogs at the end. Someone once told me that, in folklore, if you heard dogs barking it meant that the border between worlds was opening and the Fey were entering into the world and they were coming to steal people away. I don't know if that is actually true and I cannot seem to find an actual source on it anymore, but I really love the idea so it's in this story too now.   
> I have been told it is also why you hear dogs barking at the start of the Loreena Mckennitt song "Stolen Child". 
> 
> And finally I would like to say: thank you so much to everyone who decided to read this. I really had not expected anyone would and you cannot imagine how happy you all make me. I hope I will not disappoint you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The relationship between Sherlock and John deepens.

**Present day**

John's heat was getting worse and worse by the second.  
He was starting to lose focus as a constant, unbearable craving was slowly starting to take over his body.  
Twice already had he almost fallen from his horse. Hoisting himself back upright at the last moment as his body slumped to the side, made woozy and unfocused by the heat and pheromones coursing through his veins.  
To prevent himself from sliding off yet again he gripped his horse just a little bit tighter between his thighs which ended up only making him feel worse. The muscles in his legs quivering uncontrollably as his body pleaded for an alpha's attention. 

His horse was skittish and nervous underneath him. No doubt reacting to its masters strange mood and unfamiliar and hurried style of riding. Its nostrils flaring as the smell of omega in heat that came oozing from every pore of his body surrounded them both.

Once again John prayed that Sherlock would be there when he arrived at the meadow.  
He usually was there, but not always.  
Please.....let him be there today.......

He dared not think of what he would do if he came to their meadow and found it deserted except for the twittering of birds and the rushing of a gentle breeze.  
If his heat finally overtook him there when he was all alone and out in the open with no alpha nearby to protect him....or help him......it would be agony.  
But he had to take the risk.  
The alternative was worse..... far worse. 

As another rush of heat came over him, each one worse than the one before, his stomach cramped and he closed his eyes tightly as his mind took him to the last time he had been worried Sherlock would not be there.... 

****************

**4 months earlier**

Finally, _finally_ the month came to an end and his punishment was over. His father's strict surveillance slackened somewhat and within a couple of days John saw his first opportunity to sneak out again.  
Granted, he had to climb out of a first story window, down a vine covered wall and through a small hedge to do so, but the trouble was well worth the end result.  
He finally had the sun on his face again and the wind in his hair.  
As his horse galloped across the open terrain underneath him he briefly let go of the reins, threw both his fists in the air and let out a triumphant yell.  
It was as if he had awoken from a dream he had been stuck in for the last month.  
He finally felt alive again. 

John still remembered the way to the mysterious meadow as if he had only just been there yesterday. He would probably still be able to ride there without a single wrong turn with his eyes closed.  
He did not close his eyes however. He wanted to enjoy every second of this first day of freedom after his month of incarceration. 

As he reached the familiar line of trees he breathed in deeply. This time he would not leave his horse at the forest brook, but he would ride it as close to the meadow as he could. This way he hoped he would get there quicker than when he had traversed the forest on foot. 

All of a sudden he felt nervous.  
With his goal now within reach all of the doubts that had plagued his mind while he had been cooped up inside for the last month with nothing to distract him from thinking came rushing back. 

What if Sherlock wasn't there.....

What if Sherlock wasn't as he remembered him....

What if they suddenly had nothing else to say to each other anymore....

What if Sherlock didn't want him there......

What if Sherlock had found someone else to spend his time with.......

What if.........

John breathed in deeply again, held his breath for a couple of second and then let the held air flow out again in one big rush taking some of his worries with it.  
But not all of them. 

There was nothing for it now. He had come this far. He couldn't turn back. Not anymore. He had to know. He had to see Sherlock again.  
Silently he prayed he would find him.

*************

Even on horseback it took him a good 30 minutes of swerving through trees and occasionally dismounting to lead his horse through a gully in the forest floor to reach the meadow. 

John's hands shook as he tied his horse to a nearby tree where it had plenty of shade and could just reach the edge of the meadow so it had some vegetation to graze on.  
He could not see anyone in the field, but he hadn't seen Sherlock last time either until he had been right behind him.

It took him three attempts to tie the reins into a proper knot. 

Carefully John stepped out onto the field and once again the tall grass brushed across his legs where the hem of his kilt met his sun bronzed skin.  
He wasn't sure what he should do.  
Should he call out......should he pick a flower like he had done last time.....should he......

'You came back.'

John turned around as fast as he could.  
With Sherlock standing in front of him he felt as if he was inside of a dream once again. Only this time it was one he did not wish to wake up from.  
Sherlock looked just like he remembered him. Tall and strong, but also graceful. Fairy-like indeed. His dark curls shone wherever the sun hit them and his eyes were pools of bright blue light John felt himself drowning in. 

'I promised I would', he said. 

'I was afraid you would not. That I would not see you again before.....', Sherlock did not finish his sentence. He Just stood there looking at John with a soft smile curling around his lips and a sad look in his eyes. 

'I always keep my promises.'

'I'm glad.'

And with that Sherlock stretched out his hand for John to take. His smile widening as John answered it with one of his own and took the outstretched hand.  
And as the warmth of Sherlock's touch seemed to travel through his own skin, up his arm and made itself a home inside of his chest, somehow it felt like coming home. 

*******************  
Once again they found themselves sitting side by side on the soft grass. Once again their shoulders, arms and legs almost touching.  
It was as if nothing had changed. As if John had never left. As if this was just a continuation from last time. As if he had just briefly closed his eyes while they had been talking and upon opening them found them still exactly the same.  
Just as relaxed, just as warm, just as comforting, just as it should be. 

Although

It was not the same. Not exactly.  
Something fundamentally had changed. John could feel it. In his chest, his gut, swirling just underneath his skin making him feel warm all over.  
They both knew it, but neither of them mentioned it. It was something far too big for the small intimate moment they found themselves in. 

'You know', John said, 'I was afraid I would get here and you would be gone.'

Sherlock gave a short laugh. Once again it was laced with a hint of sadness.  
'I can't leave this field', he replied. 

'Not ever?' 

He shook his head. A stray curl fell across his forehead and John could look nowhere else.  
'The fairy queen has bound me to it. In exchange I posses some fairy magic. Like the stepping between worlds, but that basically still keeps me in the same place. It just makes it so that mortals can't see me when I do it.'

'The fairy queen?' 

This time Sherlock nodded, but said nothing else.  
John thought all of this over for a second before he asked his next question:  
'Did you do something to get on her bad side?'

Sherlock laughed again. This time the sadness was even more profound and it almost sounded like a sob.  
'Fairies are not good and kind, John', he said, 'I thought I was clever in striking a bargain with her, but instead she tricked me and now I'm here. Stuck. Forever.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be.......some days are worse than others', Sherlock turned his face towards him when he said this and this time the smile on his face was more genuine. 

'I was also afraid you had found someone else to talk to while I was away', John did not dare look him in the eyes as he said this. He felt embarrassed at admitting his own insecurity. 

Sherlock furrowed his brow. Confused.  
'Now why would I do that?'

'I don't know....I just thought.....'

John still could not look him in the eyes. He looked at his feet instead. How his boots were hidden in the tall grass. His legs, their sun-bronzed skin framed by small white flowers that struggled to keep their heads up in between the tall grass. His skin had been darker the previous month. Being inside for 30 days, away from the sun, had paled his complexion ever so slightly. John didn't like it. His gaze reached the hem of his kilt. Its green and red pattern complementary to the colors found all around him.  
He was feeling all kinds of emotions he could not place and he was afraid that if he were to look Sherlock in the eye he, in turn, would be able to see them all there and judge him for it. 

Sherlock did not judge him.  
Instead, he took John's hand where he had placed it behind himself, leaning his body back as they sat down and pulled him to his feet. 

'Come on', he said. His smile warming John from a cold he had not realized had crept up on him, 'let's see if you still remember all the names of the flowers I taught you last time.'  
And with that, still holding his hand, he pulled John along.  
And, once again, John felt like he belonged. Like he was home.

*********************

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about trivial things. About how warm the sun was that day. About which of the flowers they liked best. About what type of bird they thought they heard singing at the moment. 

Later, when he snuck back into his room, John could not remember exactly what they had talked about. It hadn't mattered. The conversation had just been there to stop the silence from letting both of them realize what actually was going on. 

When the evening drew near once again John could not prolong his stay any longer. Not if he didn't want to risk being forced to stay inside for another month. He did not think he could bear another 30 days away from the sun, the wind, riding his horse in full gallop.....from Sherlock.

His fingers were entwined with Sherlock's once more and, just like the last time, John could not remember when they had reached for each other. 

'Will you come back here again?' Sherlock had asked. 

'Of course....if you would like me to.'

'Yes', was all Sherlock had said. And then his fingers had left him and he was alone once more. His hand had felt unbearably cold. 

************************

From that day on John visited Sherlock as often as he could.  
John always felt just a little bit nervous whenever he stepped out from under the trees and onto the grass, but every single time Sherlock was there and at the sight of him his nerves evaporated like morning dew at the rising of the sun. 

Every new meeting went roughly the same as the first.  
They would talk, walk together, sit side by side in the grass. Only, as time wore on, the small distance that always seemed to be there between their bodies slowly started to disappear.  
Their shoulders would brush together, their fingers would intertwine and John's bare thigh would be pressed up against Sherlock's clothed leg.  
It felt natural. It felt good. It felt like they belonged. Like they were two parts of a whole that had finally found each other again, but after having been separated for so long it took time and gentle maneuvering to figure out how they fit together exactly. 

John lived for their moments together and inside him a feeling grew that he did not dare give a name to. 

**************************

On one particular afternoon, after John had been visiting Sherlock for about roughly 3 months, the sun was hidden behind rows of drifting clouds and so they were lying in the grass side by side on their backs trying to figure out what the clouds looked like. 

'Look, a horse', Sherlock said as he pointed towards a particular cloud as it drifted into their field of vision.  
John tilted his head slightly and followed the length of his arm with his gaze. 

'I suppose....', he said, 'if you squint.'

Sherlock chuckled good-naturedly.  
'You just don't have my imagination.'

John chuckled as well. His shoulder and arm comfortable pressed up against Sherlock's side. He didn't need the sun to keep him warm. 

Neither of them said anything for a while until John finally broke the comfort of the silence: 

'It was my birthday yesterday. I'm eighteen now.'

'Congratulations.'

'Thank you.'

Another couple of moments of silence before John continued:  
'My father wants me to bond. On my next heat.'

Sherlock stayed quiet for so long that John was convinced he would not comment on the subject at all and just as he was about to steer their conversation into less dangerous territory an answer from Sherlock finally came. 

'Why are you telling me this?'

'I don't know.'

'Do you want to be bonded?'

'No!.....or at least....no....I don't think so.'

'And your father.....' Sherlock did not finish his question, but John knew what he meant. 

'If I don't choose one of the alpha lords he's found suitable, he'll choose one for me.'

Once again Sherlock was silent for a very long time before he gave his reply:  
'Nobody should make you do anything you do not want to do.'

The words reminded John of the first time they had met. Sherlock had said something similar then.

_I would never make anyone do anything they didn't want.... Especially you._

'Thank you', he said. A response, he realized, to both of the times Sherlock had said it.

****************************

That night when John lay in his bed he couldn't sleep. His room seemed too dark and his hands felt cold. There was an aching, hollow feeling in his chest.  
All of a sudden he felt like crying and, although he didn't understand why, he let it happen anyway.  
The only relief he found was in the fact that there was no one around to see it. 

*******************

**Present day**

At last John reached the familiar trees he had passed through so many times before.  
His vision was starting to get blurry and although the sun was barely out, the light hurt his eyes and made him see stars.  
Every sound was too loud. Even the rustling of the leaves overhead sounded to him as if hundreds of people were clapping their hands together violently making his ears hurt and his head pound.  
Every touch seemed to hurt. His clothing scraped his over-sensitive skin like sandpaper and he could just barely resist the urge to tear every last bit of it away from his body.  
But he couldn't.  
Not yet.  
He was only barely hanging on to his sanity, but it wasn't much longer now.  
On his lips only three words.  
A mantra he kept repeating to himself over and over: 

_please be there_

_please be there_

_please be there_

_Sherlock, please be there_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been getting some unexpected love in the form of subscriptions, bookmarks and kudo's.  
> I love you all for it so to show my gratitude: here is another chapter. 
> 
> I hope you all like it and keep enjoying this story as much as I like writing it. 
> 
> (also: there is now an actual chapter count to work towards!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With John's first heat as an adult drawing nearer his father is adamant he bonds with an alpha lord.

**Two weeks ago**

'So John, when do you think your next heat will come on?'

The question his father asked him as John was sitting by a window in the dining hall, watching the rain run down the glass in thick streams, had not come as a total surprise, but John still felt a little bit taken aback by it. 

Now that he was officially “of age” it was finally legal for him to receive the bond-bite and all his father talked about these days was how getting him bonded to a powerful and rich alpha lord would help open up all kinds of new opportunities for their family.

So of course he had expected his father to broach the subject again sooner or later. Of course he had....

He had just not expected the question to be so intimate. Up to this point his father had only talked to him about eligible alpha lords and the benefits of bonding with one or the other.  
Seemingly endless monologues about owned land and politics during which John had usually just nodded and pretended to listen.  
His heats had always been a private thing.  
Something he went through in his own room, alone, behind a locked door with the windows tightly shut and the curtains drawn.  
During the two to five days it usually lasted no servants were allowed to go into his rooms and his father usually just did his very best pretending that, for the time being, he did not exist at all.  
Even afterwards, when he'd just come out the other end, tired, sore and never as truly satiated as he deep down felt he needed to be, his father never spoke a word about it. 

He'd never ask how John was doing.  
If he was alright.  
How he felt. 

He'd just....look at him.  
The expression on his face somewhere between disgust and disappointment and then he'd just go on doing what he usually did in his day to day life.  
Without a single word.  
It always made John feel like he was less.....less than his father wanted him to be. Not enough. Never enough.  
As if somehow being an omega was something he had done to himself and he could easily change if he would only just try hard enough.  
But he didn't try. At least not enough. And so he remained an omega and his father remained disappointed and there was nothing that could be done and they were all miserable for it. 

It was no secret that the alpha lord of Carterhaugh would have rather had an alpha child.  
Alpha's were strong, independent, born leaders and rulers.  
Omega's were soft, fragile, they needed to be pampered and taken care of constantly and were utterly unfit for any form of leadership. 

Or....at least....that's how his father saw it.  
John rebelled against this sentiment with every fiber of his being.  
It was why he would often take his horse and just....ride.  
Have some form of freedom and being his own person before the narrow-minded beliefs of his father and many alpha's with him would condemn him to a life of being stored away like something that was easy to break and have someone else make all his decisions for him.

'It should be here in about two weeks', he answered his father. His tone dejected as he refused to look him in the eye. The rain was still pouring down, making it hard to see out of the window. The sky, packed with clouds, hung overhead like a big, gray feather down blanket so thick that you couldn't even see the sun. 

His father knew very well when his next heat would be.

Ever since he'd been twelve years old and his heats had started his father had kept a calendar. His cycle had been meticulously marked off on it.  
Like any true alpha, his father liked control.  
This question was not the true question. It was leading up to the question his father really wanted to ask and John was pretty sure he wasn't going to like it. 

'Have you decided on an alpha to bond with yet?'

And there it was. 

'No', he said as his fingers traced the raindrops falling on the other side of the glass.  
He wondered how Sherlock kept dry when it rained like this. If he just stepped between worlds. Would it rain there also? He'd have to ask him next time he saw him.  
'I'm never going to bond', he said. 

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder pulling him backwards most violently and tugging him up to his feet. His father's angry face inches away from his own. 

'Now you listen here', his father spat out, 'we have been over this countless times, but it just does not seem to sink into that soft, stupid omega brain of yours. Bonding is the _only_ purpose an omega serves. Striking a fortuitous bond and bringing your family honor, riches and power would be the only useful thing you have ever done for this family.  
Do you understand.' 

John averted his eyes and kept silent. His father's hand like a vice on his shoulder. It hurt. Badly. It would bruise. But he couldn't let on that it did. Showing weakness was exactly what his father expected a “lowly” omega to do. 

Aggravated his father pushed him back again and he ended up sitting on the windowsill with his back pressed against the glass. It felt cold. A stark contrast to the heat of his father's rage in front of him. 

'You', his father said, ' _will_ bond. Either you choose your own mate from the lords of the neighboring counties or I will choose one for you. These are your options, John. So pick one.'

John said nothing. He just pressed his back firmly against the window, his hands tight fists at his sides as he looked anywhere but at his father's face. 

Eventually his father gave an exasperated sigh and stormed out. 

John desperately wanted to go and ride his horse. Let the rain quench the fire that had ignited inside of him. See Sherlock again maybe. Ask him where he went when it rained.  
But he couldn't.  
After an argument his father always kept an extremely close eye on him. There was no escaping the castle today. His father was already angry and if he caught him sneaking out now he would do far worse than just shove him. 

So John just turned himself around in the windowsill and started tracing the drops of water again as he pressed his forehead to the cool glass. 

'If only I was a drop of rain', he muttered to himself, 'at least I'd be on the other side of the glass.'

*******************

**One week ago**

John was sitting in his room when his father suddenly burst in. He had a smile on his face and a piece of paper in his hand.  
This was undoubtedly very “not good”.  
John shifted nervously where he was seated on his bed. He had been reading a book on fairy-lore. It had been quite good. He had just reached a story about a magician who had managed to catch a fairy-king by turning him into a crow with a magical cage. All was not as it seemed though and the fairy-king was about to turn the tables on him by some kind of devilish trickery.  
When his father burst in he had quickly closed the book and shoved it under his pillow..  
His father didn't seem to notice.  
Or care. 

'I have solved your little problem', his father said. Smile still firmly on his face. It gave John chills. He decided it would be best not to say anything yet until his father had further explained himself. 

'This here', his father continued, waving the piece of paper he held in the air, 'is a letter from lord Wallace.'

John's heart sank. 

His father continued talking.  
'After our little conversation of last week I realized that, being the omega that you are, you would never be able to make a decision like this for yourself.....so I have made it for you.'

John just shook his head. 'no...' but his voice was weak and his limbs felt as if they were paralyzed. 

'Yes', his father said, 'I have written him a letter to invite him over to Carterhaugh castle so he can be here when your next heat comes along.  
Today I received a letter back. He has accepted. Now doesn't that solve everything.'

'No', John said again.  
As far as political matches went, lord Wallace would be perfect. He owned a vast piece of land on the south border of Carterhaugh. A bond with him would ensure the union of both their territories. The neighboring lords would quake with fear should this come to pass. 

Lord Wallace was also cruel, violent and perverted.  
John felt as if his entire life was flashing by in front of his eyes. 

'No', he said again. It was all he seemed to be able to say at the moment. 

'This is going to happen, John', his father said, 'I gave you a fair choice of the lords, but you decided not to choose so I chose for you. Like any good father would do. I don't see what you're so upset about.'

'Lord Wallace is completely abhorrent. I will not spend the rest of my life with him!'  
At that point he seemed to have regained the use of his vocabulary. 

'Sure, you say that now', the smile on his father's face widened, 'but when you're in heat I can throw any old alpha at you and you'll accept him without question. It's how omega's work. You of all people should know this.'

Once again John felt pure and cold anger rise inside of him as he got up from his bed and slowly, calculated walked forward until he had placed himself right in front of his father.  
Their bodies so close either of them would only have to lift a finger in order to touch the other.  
But neither of them did. Neither of them moved. Touching the other would, at this point, be akin to lighting the fuse on a powder keg.

'Maybe so', John said, 'but if I find that man anywhere near me while I still have my wits about me I will kill him.' 

And with that he stormed off.  
Out of his room, out of the hall, out of the castle.  
He needed his horse.  
He needed to ride.  
He needed......

Behind him he could just hear his father's booming voice and he wished he hadn't heard the words it carried with it. Because, deep down, he knew his father was right. 

'Run all you want, John! But you can't run forever! Not from this!'

He needed.......

***************************

John rode his horse as fast as he could. The steady beating of his horse's hooves on the ground a monotone anchor that kept him from panicking completely.  
The wind was a cold lash in his face, but he didn't seem to feel it.  
The warm days of summer had come and gone over the last couple of months and now the chill of oncoming autumn clung to the edge of each and every day.  
It had all gone by so fast.  
How could it have gone so fast?  
It seemed like only yesterday when he had first stepped onto Sherlock's meadow. The sun bright overhead. Warming him inside and out.  
He had not been eighteen then.  
Life had been simpler then. 

John wiped a hand harshly across his eyes. There was rain in them and he couldn't see where he was going.  
But when he looked around him the sky was clear and the ground was dry.  
It was then that he realized he had been crying.

**************  
It seemed to take forever until he reached the now familiar meadow.  
When he finally did get there he tied his horse haphazardly to the first tree he saw.  
The long ride had done nothing to calm his nerves and he felt as if his insides were shaking out of his skin. As if his feelings were too big for his chest making his heart explode out of it. 

_please be here_ he thought.  
_please be here......_

All of a sudden feeling a bit reluctant he stepped out on the grass. 

He was alone. 

There was no familiar baritone voice. No strong arms grabbing him around his middle. No deep blue eyes that looked at him as if he was a secret that Sherlock was dying to know. 

There was no one. 

He tried calling out, but the sinking feeling in his heart already told him it would be to no avail. 

'Sherlock?'

…..

Nothing. 

Slightly louder this time: 'Sherlock?'

All he manged to do was spook a couple of birds and make himself feel even more uncomfortable. 

Sherlock was not here. 

He didn't know where Sherlock went when he wasn't here. Up until now he he had always been here. So he couldn't go look for him.  
And he couldn't go home. Not yet anyways.  
He knew he had to go home eventually.  
Where else would he go.  
But not yet.  
Not yet. 

And so, not knowing what else to do, he sat down in the middle of the meadow, his legs hugged tightly against his chest and he just waited.  
It wasn't until he felt a wetness drip down from his chin onto his knees that he realized he was crying again. 

**********

'John?'

Sherlock sounded unsure and maybe a little scared. 

John didn't know how long he'd been sitting here in the meadow. It seemed like only moments. It seemed like forever. 

As he slowly got up his limbs felt stiff and sore. Must have been a long time then.  
The darkening sky around him seemed to confirm this. 

Sherlock stood a couple of steps away from him. He made no attempt to reach for John.  
He looked terrified. 

'What are you doing here, John?', he asked, 'are you alright?'

John just shook his head, took a step forward and threw himself into Sherlock's arms.  
And even though the sky was darkening around them, quickly filling the world up with muted grays, to John the world seemed to be full of color once more. Sherlock's body a warm and comforting presence against his. The smell of the alpha intoxicating. A balm to his frayed and damaged nerves.  
Slowly, gently, Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and held him tight.  
John almost thought he could feel the faint brush of lips on the top of his head, but he was pretty sure it was just his imagination running wild. 

'Where were you?' he asked. Not really answering Sherlock's questions, but this question had been burning on his lips for hours now and he needed to know. 

Sherlock sighed.  
'The fairy-queen', he said, 'she had called me to her and when she does....I obey. I have to. She is up to something, but I don't know what it is yet.'

'I called for you too.' 

'I would have come, had I heard you.'

John just buried his face in Sherlock's chest. Needing his warmth to reach every fiber of his being, but by embracing alone it only seemed to go skin deep. He heaved a frustrated sigh. 

'Are you alright?' Sherlock asked again. His hands tracing gentle patterns on his back. 

'Will you just hold me for now?'

Sherlock nodded. And although John could not see the gesture, pressed against his chest as he was, he could feel the movement of Sherlock's cheek against the side of his forehead.  
Once again he sighed, but this time he could feel some of the tension leaving his body along with his breath. 

**************

They stood like that for a little while longer. The sky darkening dangerously around them.  
Finally it was Sherlock who spoke first. 

'It's getting dark', he said, stating the obvious, 'it's not safe for you to be here after dark, John. It's when the fairy-queen visits.' 

Reluctantly John pushed himself back from Sherlock's chest, but Sherlock's hands remained at the small of his back.  
A warm pressure that reassured him and seemed to make it easier for him to breathe. 

'I should be going home', he said. 

'Will you be alright?'

John tried to smile and failed utterly.  
'Of course.'

Sherlock's hands remained on his back. 

'John....'

'I have to go.'  
And with that he stepped back further. Out of Sherlock's reach, making his hands slide away from the small of his back. Taking all the warmth with them. 

'Will you be back?' 

'Always.'

At least a bit calmer than he had been earlier that day, oh so many hours ago, John left the meadow. 

When he reached the line of trees he allowed himself one more look back. He did not expect Sherlock to be there, he was always gone as soon as John left, but today, just barely visible in the gathering dusk, the outline of him could still be seen. His eyes two glittering stars in the gathering night.  
And, even though it should not be possible in this light from the distance he was standing at, John could clearly make out the look of sadness and concern he still bore on his face. 

_will you be back?_

He hoped he would........

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not planning to write a chapter per day on this, but somehow I can't seem to stop writing....
> 
> Next chapter will have to do with sex. Don't be alarmed. 
> 
> Also, fun fact: the story John reads in his fairy book is actually an original short story I wrote years back. Don't worry, you cannot find it anywhere online. 
> 
> And as always: thank you all so much for reading. If you like: leave a comment. That would also be awesome.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, while in heat, finally reaches Sherlock's meadow.  
> Warning: this is where this story earns its "Mature" rating.

**Yesterday**

Lord Wallace was even worse than John remembered. 

During his childhood he had only met him a couple of times, but it had been enough to make a lasting impression.  
The man was vile, sneaky, knew what he wanted and had no respect for personal boundaries.  
Over the years whenever he had visited his father to strengthen the bond between both of their counties and, John was starting to realize now, perhaps also try and get a foot in the door where the future bond of the lord of Carterhaugh's omega heir was concerned, Wallace would always make sure he spent at least some of his time at the castle with John.  
Regardless of whether John actually wanted to or not. 

An involuntary shudder ran through his body as he remembered the handshakes that always lasted just a little bit too long. The palm of the alpha's large hand just a little bit too cold and moist. He always had to repress the urge to wipe his hand on the nearest surface right after.  
The hand-kisses, oh god....the hand-kisses, that always, somehow, seemed to involve a tongue.  
And the insinuations.  
As a young boy they had still been pretty mild and had gone completely over his head, but now that he was older every single one of them made him want to tear out Wallace's tongue and make him eat it, lightly seared with a side of the alpha's testicles. 

'What are you doing here all alone?', the sound of the alpha's voice the same as his handshake, cold and just a little bit too wet, 'an omega as pretty as yourself shouldn't be hiding out here all alone. I can think of a thing or two we could be doing together.'

John closed the book he was reading.  
Wallace had been at Carterhaugh castle for two days already. It felt more like two years.  
It had been agony.  
John had really hoped the alpha would not think to look for him in the library. 

Wallace's eyes roamed over his bare legs appreciatively and John realized just a little bit too late that sitting cross-legged, while being a good position to be reading in, left not a whole lot to the imagination when you're wearing a kilt.  
He quickly folded his legs out from underneath him and placed his feet on the floor in front of the comfortable chair he was seated on, adjusting his kilt in the process, but it was too late. 

There was an unnerving sparkle in Wallace's eyes as he licked his lips and stepped forward. 

'You don't need books', the alpha said, his voice now positively oozing, as he stepped closer, 'I can teach you a thing or two'.  
Even his gait seemed to exude an uncomfortable wetness. 

'I'd rather be alone, thank you very much.'

The alpha chuckled as he stepped closer still.  
'You don't mean that, darling. I've seen the way you look at me. When you think I can't see it.'

 _Full of disgust and absolute loathing?_ John thought. But he said nothing. As the alpha advanced on him still the smell of him became stronger and stronger and John was afraid that, were he to open his mouth now, he would gag.  
God, even the smell of the alpha was wet and cold and it reminded him of rancid swamp-water. 

By now Wallace had reached the chair John was sitting in. A positively reptilian smile on his face that showed just a little bit too much teeth. The smell of him now so heavy that it felt like an entity all on its own. A third party in the room and, like the alpha it had come from, entirely unwanted. 

Slowly Wallace lent forward and as he placed his too big and too wet hands on the armrests on either side of John's body he felt as if he was being smothered.  
Drowned in the rancid stench the alpha took with him wherever he went. 

This time John did gag. 

Wallace either didn't notice or pretended that he didn't. 

'Don't you think it's a little bit too warm in here?' the alpha said as his breath ghosted over John's face and seemed to cling to the skin of his cheek and neck even after he had stopped speaking. 

The hidden meaning of the words was abundantly clear. For the last two days Wallace had been like a predator in waiting. Waiting for John's heat to begin.  
Because, once it did, his father had pretty much given the alpha permission to use John in any way he saw fit. To bond with him. And by doing so gain not only an omega to satisfy his lascivious needs, but also the rule of Carterhaugh once John inherited it. 

The man had been pretty much chomping at the bit.  
Getting more and more impatient as the hours rolled by. It had started with glances that lingered just a bit too long, handshakes held just a bit too tight, comments just on the other side of propriety directed towards him.  
Slowly it had progressed to furtive touches whenever he saw the chance, hand-kisses for no reason other than to be able to swipe his tongue across John's skin and clearly sexual remarks.  
The alpha's lust and impatience boiling over to a point where he could not find it in himself to at least try and hide it anymore.  
John had remained just as cold and aloof towards him as he had always been. 

'I'm actually too cold', John replied, giving the alpha an icy stare that he hoped would get the message across. 

Wallace was not so easily deterred. 

'I could warm you up.'

'No thank you.'

'Ah, you say that, but....'

'No.'

'I could show you such heated delights.'

Somehow Wallace's right hand had made its way from the armrest of the chair to John's left knee. It was now making its way slowly upwards. Cold fingers were playing with the hem of his kilt as a thumb slowly stroked the skin of his thigh. To John it felt as if a frog was trying to make its way underneath his kilt and he shivered as a result. 

Wallace chose to completely misinterpret the sudden tremble that ran through the muscles underneath his too damp fingertips and decided to add his tongue to the already mortifying experience.  
Slowly he ran the tip of it along the shell of John's ear and, breath hot, heavy and rank, he whispered into it: 'Maybe I should check just how hot you actually are.'

John felt like he had put up with a lot of harassment and nonsense over the last couple of days, but as Wallace's tongue slithered across the whorl of his ear like some kind of slimy fish something in him snapped.  
Before he even realized what he was doing he drew up his knees to his chest, placed both his feet firmly on the alpha's chest and pushed as hard as he could.  
He briefly reveled in the look of stunned surprise that passed over the alpha's face just before he was flung backwards.  
Wallace was only just able to keep from toppling over as he swung his arms around him wildly like some deranged windmill. 

John threw his book at him for good measure and as it hit Wallace square in the chest he finally did topple over. 

John knew that he had only been able to gain the upper hand through the element of surprise. The alpha was bigger and stronger than him. If he were to get back on his feet while John was still in the room he would not be so lucky a second time. 

Quickly he made his way to the door, shut it behind him and changed his pace from a fast walk to an actual run.  
He kept on running. Through the hallways of the castle, up several flights of stairs, through another set of doors and hallways until he had reached his own rooms.  
He locked the door behind him and sank down on his bed.  
His breath came in short pants and his face was damp with sweat. He could still feel the chill of Wallace's fingers on his skin.  
He needed to wash. Desperately.  
His heat was due any day now.  
This was not good.

*********  
John woke up in the early hours of the morning to the feeling he had been dreading ever since he turned eighteen. 

His entire body felt just a little bit too warm while his skin was sweaty and seemed to itch all over. An uncomfortable feeling that would soon grow worse and worse as his mind would start to cloud over and his body prepared for the only thing that would be able to quench the fire starting up inside of him:  
An alpha's attentions. 

If Wallace found out his heat was starting he was done for.  
The thought of sharing his heat with Wallace was something too horrible to image. But once he reached the peak of it his mind would be so overrun with hormones that he would even let someone as loathsome as Wallace defile him. Put his sweaty hands all over his body.  
John shivered. Both from heat and pure disgust. 

Wallace couldn't know. His father couldn't know.

Along with the heat pure panic was now also starting to rise inside of him. 

He could not stay here.  
Silently he thanked his lucky stars that he was still in the early stages of heat and it was still so early in the morning that everybody else was fast asleep. 

But where would he go? 

No matter how much he thought about it his mind seemed to turn to only one destination every single time.  
Sherlock.  
The meadow.  
It was the only place he felt safe.  
What would he do when he got there? Or if Sherlock wasn't there? Or if Sherlock was there....

He didn't know. As the heat rose and rose and he felt more and more uncomfortable in his own skin he also found it increasingly difficult to think clearly. 

He just had to get out while he still could. That much was clear. Anything was better than being bonded to Wallace. 

As quickly as he could he dressed himself, but the fact that he could not keep his fingers from shaking made the usually simple and mundane activity difficult. Taking up more time than he had hoped it would. Precious time he was loath to lose. 

John did not take anything with him. He just wanted to get out. It was too warm inside. Too stuffy. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't concentrate.  
He needed fresh air.  
He needed......

He willed himself to stop thinking, took a deep breath and, as quietly as he could, snuck outside. 

**********  
**Present**

John had no memory of traveling underneath the trees and making his way to the meadow, but suddenly he was there.  
He had been here so many times before he must have just traveled straight to it on instinct. Or maybe his horse had remembered the too familiar path and, without any decisive input from its master, had decided to just bring him here. 

Either way, he had never been so relieved to see the tall grass moving along with the sighing of the wind.  
He let out a breath of his own as he gingerly let himself slide down form his horse.  
His hands now constantly trembling and his legs barely able to carry his weight.  
He felt warm and sweaty all over and his insides were possibly churning. As he had traveled for what seemed like hours, bouncing along on his horse, his heat-driven body had interpreted this in completely the wrong way and as a result the insides of his thighs were drenched with his own slick. He could even smell himself at this point. The air around him thick with the scent of omega in heat. Ripe, ready, here for the taking. 

John swallowed.  
He knew he should tie op his horse in case it would wander of, but his shaking hands seemed to not be his own anymore and he could not get them to cooperate. 

He left his horse where it had stopped. Right at the edge of the meadow.

Even walking was difficult now, but he just managed it. Carefully. Slowly. One foot in front of the other as the inside of his legs felt uncomfortably wet and warm until finally, _finally_ he stepped out onto the grass.  
His vision went blurry as he did so, the last vestiges of his strength finally leaving him and he would have fallen face first onto the ground had it not been for two strong arms that were suddenly around him. 

*********

'John?'  
The voice was warm, soothing and comforting. Like a balm to his soul and for a moment the heat subsided just a fraction as Sherlock's face appeared in his field of vision. A look of genuine concern and dread on his face.  
'What's the matter, John? Are you okay?'

John was about to answer, or try anyway, but then he saw Sherlock's nostrils flare and the expression on his face changed. A look of shocked understanding now replacing the concern.  
'John....' he said again. The sound of his own name had never sounded so sweet and he grabbed onto Sherlock with both hands, burying his nose in the crook of his neck where his scent was most pronounced and inhaled sharply.

Sherlock groaned, but did not push him away. If anything his arms tightened just a small fraction around John's waist. 

'You're in heat', he said. Very much stating the obvious. 

John just continued nuzzling his neck and pressed his body firmly against Sherlock. He needed....he craved....

This time Sherlock did push him away, but it was a gentle thing and his hands did not leave John's body entirely. The gesture only meant to create a little bit of space between the two of them. 

To John's dismay his nose was also forced away from the wonderfully soft and rich scent he had been able to surround himself in at the juncture of Sherlock's neck and shoulder.  
It however did grant him just a small fraction of clarity and dazedly he shook his head as Sherlock kept him at arms length. 

'John...', he said again. His tone unsure and his eyes scanning John's face for a sign that some part of him still understood what was going on and he was not yet completely lost to his heat and his hormones. 

'I need you', John finally managed to say. His voice labored and rough even to his own ears. 

He could feel Sherlock's arms tremble slightly where they held him. 

'You don't mean that.'

'Yes I do.'

'It's the heat talking, John. You don't want me.'

'Why else would I be here?'

'I.......', for a moment it seemed as if Sherlock was going to pull John closer to him. Envelop him in an embrace and melt their bodies together, but he seemed to change his mind at the last second.  
'If we do this....there is no going back.'

John just nodded. The distance between them, however small, was beginning to become unbearable. The heat that was roaring inside him starting to make him insecure. Not understanding why the alpha of his choice was denying him. 

'I need you.' He said again and the sound that Sherlock made in return sounded positively pained.

'I don't want you to regret this.'

'I won't', John pulled himself closer to Sherlock and, loosening his grip, Sherlock let him, folding his arms around John's waist and shoulders protectively as John brushed his lips against Sherlock's. 

'I don't feel well, Sherlock', his voice barely a whisper against the alpha's lips, 'make me feel better.....please.'

At these words, spoken so softly and intimately between them Sherlock's grip tightened around him. His fingers digging into John's shirt. Leaving bruises where they gripped into the skin underneath. John didn't mind. If it had been possible right now he wanted Sherlock's warm and soothing hands to claw a way inside his aching body and quell the raging fire that hurt him from the inside out. 

In stark contrast to the death-grip of his fingers Sherlock's lips brushed over his own oh so gently. Barely a kiss at all, but John still moaned at the hint of contact.  
'Please don't regret this later', Sherlock murmured into his mouth and then, all at once, the kiss deepened. 

That lovely Cupid's bow of Sherlock's upper lip was moving against his own. Hungry. Needy. Barriers were lowered and as John felt himself being pulled against sherlock's body even tighter he could feel a hardness akin to his own underneath Sherlock's breeches.  
He moaned again and as he did so Sherlock's tongue was suddenly inside of his mouth, his hands on the back of his head. Dominating the kiss. Guiding him along. Taking over control in the way that both of them so desperately craved.

It felt wonderful to finally have what he had secretly been wanting for months. He realized that now. All those lingering touches and stolen moments. They had both been courting each other without realizing it. A wanting just beneath the surface that neither of them had ever thought would be returned. 

John felt like he was in heaven. But, however nice the kiss was, he soon found himself wanting more.  
Desperately he pulled himself closer to Sherlock still. His hands grabbing everywhere he could, his clothing, his shoulders, until eventually they found their way into his hair. He wound the soft curls around his fingers and just pulled. 

Sherlock practically growled. 

At the sound John could feel the heat crescendo inside of him as a flush of slick prepared him for what he really wanted. 

All of a sudden he felt his feet leave the ground. He would have let out a startled yelp had he found it in himself to dislodge his lips from Sherlock. Instead a muffled moan came out, immediately swallowed up by Sherlock's searching mouth as he lifted John from the ground and gently laid him down on his back on the soft grass. 

'John', he said once again. His voice filled with awed wonder and reverence as his hands moved down to where his shirt was tucked into his kilt and started to pull the fabric up and away.  
It took some awkward fumbling to remove the piece of clothing entirely, neither one of them willing to stop touching the other, but in the end they managed. The shirt, haphazardly thrown to the side, John flat on his back in the grass and Sherlock hovering over him. His hands softly tracing the lines of the muscles of his chest and abdomen. His eyes filled with warm lust. Mirroring the flames that John felt raging through his body. 

'Please', all he managed to say. 

Slowly Sherlock lent down and as his tongue now traced the lines where his fingers had been moments before John closed his eyes and sighed. The uncomfortable and near painful feeling from before now subsiding and being replaced by another warmth. A lustful fire of pure want. He wanted Sherlock. He wanted every inch of him. All around him. Inside him. He wanted their bodies to melt together and never be apart again. He wanted to say this, but the feeling of Sherlock's tongue tracing a languid path along his skin clouded over his mind and tore any coherent thought to shreds so instead he just placed his hands on the alpha's face. Softly. Gently. 

'Please', he said once again. And Sherlock understood.

************

It didn't take long then for the both of them to lose the rest of their clothing.  
John marveled at the expanse of pale, flawless skin suddenly laid bare before him. Sherlock's muscles visible underneath as tight cords. A hidden strength that was both beautiful and slightly intimidating at the same time.  
He did not however have long to admire the naked body before him, because soon Sherlock's lips were pressed against his own again and John closed his eyes.

They did not have much time for kissing left either, however lovely it was, because, spurred on by Sherlock's loving ministrations and the sweet and strong scent of alpha that surrounded him, John's heat had now peaked. 

'Please', he said once again, 'I need you.'

'I know', Sherlock's reply from where he was hovering over him. His weight held up by his arms and once again John marveled at the firm muscles that lay just underneath the skin. 

He made to roll over on his stomach and present as a good omega should, but Sherlock's hand on his shoulder stopped him from doing so. 

'No', he said and for a moment the lovely warmth John had felt coursing through him turned into ice cold fear as his chosen alpha seemed to deny him at the last second.

'I want to see you', Sherlock continued and as John saw the soft smile on his alpha's face all the warmth from before came rushing back in and he felt his face flush.  
With a smile of his own as an answer he just nodded and let himself sink back into the grass underneath. 

'Please', he said once more. 

************

Sherlock fit inside him as if they were made for each other.  
John had never felt this way.  
It was as if there was nothing in the world, but the two of them.  
Sherlock moving inside of him, the passage made easier by John's natural lubricant, his thighs drenched in it as his lust rose and rose every time Sherlock so much as touched his body.  
There were fingers gently stroking along John's cheek, soft puffs of breath ghosting over his face and neck as Sherlock softly groaned with each thrust.  
His lips sometimes on John's lips, then on his cheek, his forehead, his closed eyelids, slowly making their way across his jaw to his neck. 

John shivered as Sherlock's tongue lapped over the gland that lay there. Where his scent was strongest.  
Sherlock thrust just a fraction harder.

They were moving fast now. John's heels pushing into Sherlock's backside. Pushing him inside as far as he could.  
Finally, finally reaching that spot where only an alpha could reach.  
He threw his head back in ecstasy and immediately Sherlock's lips were back on his neck.  
Now the soft graze of teeth could be felt. An unspoken promise of what was to come. 

They both groaned and at his entrance a new pressure could be felt as Sherlock's knot swelled. 

'John.....John', his name a mantra on his lovers lips and once again John marveled at the sound as if he was hearing his own name for the first time. He wanted to hear his name spoken like that forever. He wanted this forever. The revelation of that thought made him gasp and another wave of slick lubricated the way for the last piece of Sherlock he so desperately needed. 

'John.'

'Yes....god....yes.'

And with that Sherlock was completely inside him. The alpha groaned again. It almost sounded like he was in pain, but the look of pure bliss and wonder on his face told John that quite the opposite was true.  
He felt the alpha empty. A rush of warm fluid in his most private of parts. It felt wonderful. The fire inside of him finally quenched. It felt right. The world felt right. It was perfection. 

He however did not have time to marvel at this singular amazing moment for long, because soon his own orgasm overtook him. 

A slow heat started in his lower body where Sherlock was still thrusting, however not as violently as before. A slow languid movement remained. Full of love and care. And when John looked up and saw reflected in Sherlock's eyes everything he himself was feeling so clearly and in complete earnest the heat shot up through his veins most violently until his entire body seemed to be swimming inside of it. Pure and weightless.  
Utter bliss.  
He closed his eyes, because, in this moment of overflowing senses, seeing became too much.  
Instead he pulled Sherlock as tight against his body as he possibly could. Hoping the alpha felt even a fraction of what he was experiencing. 

'Yes', he said again. 

'Yes', Sherlock replied. 

And the last thing he remembered was the feeling of Sherlock's teeth on his neck. Breaking the skin. Sealing the bond-bite and tying them together irrevocably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow did this chapter get away from me!  
> I never intended it to get so long....
> 
> I sincerely hope I did our boys first time justice, I always have such a hard time writing the "sexy times".  
> Also: this is my first endeavour into the wonderful world of omegaverse so....eh....what can you do. 
> 
> I really, really hope y'all are still enjoying this tale. 
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who still reads this. You are all the best and I love you all equally.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There can be no us"

Afterwards they lay together for a while, side by side, their faces close, sharing breaths.  
The soft grass beneath serving as their bed. The sky and clouds above their blankets.  
John pressed his nose once again in the crook of Sherlock's neck while Sherlock draped his arm loosely around him, fingers tracing idle figures on skin, leaving unseen trails, igniting the naked flesh beneath in their wake.  
John sighed, contented.  
Sherlock tightened his grip.

*********

They made love twice more before evening started to fall around them.  
And as the sky around them darkened, so did the expression on Sherlock's face.  
'We cannot stay here', he said as he sat up in the grass next to John. His body slowly getting colder now that his lover was no longer pressed against it. He didn't like the cold, but he also found it difficult to move after their recent strenuous activities.  
He felt utterly satiated. He felt happy. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd felt happy. If he ever had.  
Sherlock turned his face towards John now and after seeing the look of concern there he did bring himself to lean up at least halfway on his elbows. 

'The meadow is a dangerous place to be at night', Sherlock continued, 'it's when the fairies visit....if they find you....'

John swallowed. 'Are you sending me away?' _please don't send me away_

'No, god no', gently Sherlock placed his hand on John's upper thigh. A somewhat possessive gesture, but John wasn't sure if Sherlock was even aware he was doing it.  
'We just need to hide.....be careful....that's all....follow me.'

Sherlock helped him to his feet. They gathered their clothing but felt no need to dress and, taking his hand, Sherlock led him to a shallow cave at the edge of the meadow. It was partly hidden behind a tree and some bushes and with the entrance being slightly to the side you would probably miss it if you didn't already know it was there. 

The area inside the cave was small. The roof overhead so low that neither of them could stand up without hitting their heads. The floor was covered with soft moss and in one corner a small oil lamp stood that Sherlock lit as they entered.  
John wondered if this was where Sherlock slept.  
If this was, for all intents and purposes, his home.  
He would have to ask later, because his heat was flaring up again most viscously and as his body burned with an intense craving all rational thought was pushed to the side. All he could do now was reach for Sherlock and hope he heard the unspoken words that lay behind the gesture.

********  
The moss was soft underneath his back as Sherlock moved once again inside him. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine it was a mattress in an expensive bed in a house that belonged to no one but the both of them.  
'John....', Sherlock's voice was full of warmth and awe as he finished inside his body.  
John closed his eyes and followed suit. 

********

They were sitting opposite each other now, Sherlock's fingers tracing the bond-bite on John's neck. The look he bore this time far away and indecipherable, even to John.  
They both were silent for a long time.  
Sherlock apparently lost in thought and John reveling in the feeling of Sherlock's fingertips grazing the tender skin. It was a strange mixture of pain and pleasure he could not get enough of and he bent his neck slightly, trying to increase the pressure, but just as he did Sherlock suddenly withdrew his hand and let it fall to his lap. 

'I had not meant to bite you', Sherlock said.  
John's heart sank.  
He suddenly felt far too naked, too exposed, even in the sheltered confines and privacy of the cave.  
'You shouldn't have done it then', the words perhaps a little bit too bitter. 

'John...'

'It's fine', he could not bear to look at Sherlock right now. 

'John....you misunderstand. I did not mean to bite you...'

'So you said.'

'….but I definitely wanted to.'

This time John did look at him and seeing the smile that was there he knew they did not have much time to talk before his heat would be back in full force again. 

'I wanted you too.'

Sherlock's hand was back on his neck, gently tipping John's chin up as he pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.  
It was over far too quickly for John's liking. 

'It's dangerous to be with me, John', the words were whispered in the breath of air that remained between their mouths. Their foreheads touching as Sherlock's hand still rested on John's neck. 

'Because of the fairy-queen?' he asked, but deep down he already knew the answer. 

'Yes.... I am bound to her. Bound to do her bidding. You see...I am not a free man and so I cannot make the choices a free man makes....', here he kissed him again. A little more urgently this time, '….however much I would like to.'

'So what does that mean for us?' he already knew the answer to this question as well and, however much he did not want to hear it, he still had to ask. 

'I don't know.'

'Don't lie, Sherlock. Not to me.'

The silence that followed hung heavy between them. The cave seemed to grow darker the longer it lasted. 

'There can be no us, John.... I'm sorry. Not while I am hers.'

He wanted to say something. Do something. Get mad. Shout. But as the reality of the situation sunk in all of his words seemed to have eluded him and his hands hung limply at his side. Useless. Weighted down by the words that hung heavy between them. 

_There can be no us_

So instead he closed his eyes tightly, both to the truth and to keep the tears that were suddenly blurring his vision from falling, and he kissed Sherlock again.  
This time the kiss was harsh, hurting just a little, and the taste had a bitter and salty edge to it. 

**********

They spent the rest of John's heat outside on the meadow and in the small cave. During the days they were relatively safe, but the nights were dangerous. That was when the fairies, on occasion, visited the meadow and so they stayed hidden in the cave as soon as the sun sunk below the horizon. Huddled together. Staying out of sight. Trying to be as quiet as possible.

During the nights Sherlock was tense and on edge and no matter what John did he would never let his guard down fully.  
Every unexpected sound that reached them had him covering John with his body protectively until it passed again and he was once again certain they were alone. 

He had told John that if the fairies were to find him they would surely make him into one of their servants as well. He did not wish that fate on anyone. He had looked so sad when he spoke that John had wrapped him up in his arms and had kissed every inch of his skin until all thoughts of the fairies had left him and their world was brought back to nothing but each other.

They spent John's heat as if they had all the time in the world.  
The world outside temporarily forgotten, their cave far too small for its harsh cruelties, sadness and inescapable pain.  
All that existed was a small space, housing the two of them and for a brief moment it seemed to be enough. 

************

They spent two more days like that. When John woke up on the third day he instantly knew something had changed.  
The insatiable craving and incessant want that had racked his body constantly for the last couple of days, flooding his veins, with only Sherlock's gentle touches and ministrations keeping him from drowning in it completely, were no longer there.  
His heat hat passed.

He felt as if he had just woken up from a dream. Actually seeing the world around him for the first time in days.  
He was sore all over. His muscles were stiff, his joints hurt....his backside hurt.  
But it was a pain he welcomed gladly. With a happy smile on his face he traced the countless bruises on his body that Sherlock's eager fingers and lips had left behind.  
It had been his first heat shared with an alpha and, although he had fantasized about how it would be many times, he had never expected it to be quite like this.  
So....intense.  
So....completely all consuming. It was as if he himself had burned in the flames produced by his heat and an new version of him had arisen from the ashes. A better version. A version that was now inexorably bound to Sherlock.  
His fingers rested on the bond-bite on his neck. It was only just starting to heal again.  
A visual mark for all the world to see that he belonged to Sherlock and Sherlock belonged to him. 

_Sherlock._

_Where was Sherlock?_

It was only now starting to register with him that, as the soft morning light was starting to filter into the cave, that he was uncharacteristically alone.  
Sherlock had not left his side for more than a minute these last couple of days. Surely he would return soon. 

From outside the sound of birds waking up reached him. 

He waited. 

The sound of approaching footsteps never came. 

With a feeling of rising dread John quickly put on his clothes. After two days of nothing but Sherlock's naked flesh against his the mundane action felt unfamiliar, the fabric course and entirely too constricting.  
He had the urge to tear it all off again, press himself firmly against Sherlock, exploring hands and lips, start anew....

But Sherlock wasn't here. 

And so he remained clothed and stepped outside. 

*********

A low fog hung over the meadow. Blanketing the grass in white, shrouding the light of the sun, muffling sounds, muting colors and making it hard for him to see far ahead.  
He could, however, see that he was completely alone.  
He thought about calling out for Sherlock, but something about the fog made him feel uneasy. Made him feel like he probably shouldn't make too much noise or draw attention to himself. 

So he went back to the cave and waited. Sherlock would surely come back here when he returned.

The day went on, the sun following its inevitable path through the sky. Shadows inside the cave shortened and then lengthened again.  
Sherlock did not return.  
John hugged his knees tightly. 

It was starting to get dark again. It was dangerous to be here alone after dark. Should he leave? Should he stay? Should he try and find sherlock?  
But if Sherlock had stepped between worlds or had gone to the fairy-world there was no way he could follow him there. 

The inside of the cave was slowly transforming into nothing but dark blues, grays and shadows and that was when he heard it.....

footsteps.....

coming nearer. 

For a second he thought it was Sherlock and his heart lifted, but the sound was all wrong. The footfall far too light to belong to Sherlock and, as they drew nearer still, he could now distinctly hear two sets instead of one. 

And voices....carried towards him on the wind, given a strange echoing quality as they reverberated on the walls of the cave. 

'So she has called him to her again?', said one. 

'Very early in the morning. It is unlike her to call for him during daytime', said the other. 

'Indeed. Must be very important', the reply. 

They both just laughed then. A sound that sent chills down John's spine. These were no human voices. They belonged to fairies. There was no mistaking the almost song-like cadence of their words. How they rolled their 'R's' and wrapped their tongues around their 'L's' much like Sherlock had done when he had been teaching him the names of the flowers on their first meeting.

'She thinks he had a...friend.... here. Hidden away somewhere.'

John's blood ran cold. 

'We might be here all night if all we're chasing is a thought.'

'Oh come on, lighten up. Just think of all the fun we can have if we do find him!'

As the voices continued talking the sound of barking dogs could now also be heard. As if the creatures had just spontaneously formed out of the mysterious mist that had not lessened one bit during the day and still hung low across the field.

The rest of the conversation was lost on John however. He had already snuck out of the cave and, staying low to the ground, hiding himself in white clouds of fog, was making his way to the edge of the meadow. Trying to escape the loneliness of the day and the chilling dread the voices had instilled in him. 

************

As by some miracle he found his horse tied to a tree where he had left it days before. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. There was some fresh hay laid out in front of it and a bucket of water was placed beneath a tree so it had something to drink. 

_Sherlock_ he thought. 

Quickly he untied his horse, swung himself in the saddle, his sore limbs, muscles and backside protesting with a sharp pang, and made his way through the trees, back to Carterhaugh. 

**********

His father was positively livid when he stepped back inside.  
The whites of his eyes streaked through with red, pupils blown wide, nostrils flaring, his hands forming clenched fists shaking at his sides as a vein at the side of his neck bulged dangerously. 

'Where the hell have you been!' the harsh shout grated on John's ears after the serene and sweet quiet of the last days. 

He did not want to talk to his father. He did not want to give an answer. He wanted to keep the memory of what he and Sherlock had shared all to himself. He was afraid that, were he to speak it out his father would take the words and twist them, defile them and take away the pure warmth and beauty that thinking of his last heat evoked in his chest. 

So he said nothing and tried to walk past him. 

His father, however, grabbed his arm. His fingers digging into the bruises already there as if to make a mockery of them. John tried pulling his arm back, but his father's grip held firm. Ruthless and unyielding. 

'Lord Wallace has left', his father spat out.

'Good'. 

His father's fingers dug into the soft flesh of his upper arm harder and it took all of his willpower not to flinch. 

'You ungrateful little shit! Do you have any idea how much your stubbornness has cost our family, how much......'  
His father suddenly stopped talking. His eyes fixed on one specific spot on John's neck.  
The bond-bite blatantly visible for all to see.

'No', his father said, shaking his head, 'no, no, no, no! What have you done, John. At least tell me it was one of the lords.'

'I would not let those “lords” near me if they were the last alpha on earth.'

Suddenly he was shoved back against the wall violently. His fathers hand no longer on his arm, but on his neck. His fingers digging into the freshly bitten flesh, bruising the airway that lay underneath, making John's breath come out labored and wheezing.  
John held his fathers gaze defiantly. 

His father squeezed just a little bit tighter causing John to retch. 

'Who was it, John?', the words were spoken softly, but they were full of barely contained fire and every word was enunciated perfectly. 

'I won't...tell', his voice raspy. Trying to get the words out through the pressure of the hand on his throat, 'I.... will _never_.....tell you.' 

Suddenly he was moving again as his father pulled him away from the wall and flung him to the ground. 

'You are no son of mine.' 

And with that his father left as John's bruised throat fought hard for every breath. 

*****************

He was confined to his room after that. His father watching him even more closely than before. The door was kept locked most of the time and John was no longer permitted to have a key.  
He was only let out briefly for about an hour at most every day and always under the watchful eye of his father.  
Escaping the confines of Carterhaugh castle seemed impossible and not a day went by when John didn't curse himself for coming back here.  
Maybe he had hoped.....he wasn't sure what he had hoped.  
He had been trapped between the threat of the fairies and the cruelty of his father and somehow he had judged his father to be the lesser of the two evils. He was starting to think perhaps he had been wrong. 

His father rarely spoke to him anymore. Barely even looked at him and when he did the look John saw in his eyes was full of disdain and disgust. 

_You are no son of mine_ he had said. 

Things only got worse when, after about a month or three, the slow and steady swell of John's belly started to become apparent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more chapters to go!  
> (and maybe a small epilogue...I don't know.....is that something people would like?)
> 
> Y'all ready for this? :-)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions have to be made.

'If you would just tell me who the alpha is. We could make this whole entire mess go away.'

After months spent mostly in cold, detached silence John was slightly taken aback by his father's sudden question.  
He had been expecting it though.  
With every passing day his gradually distending belly had gotten harder and harder to ignore and even though his father tried his best to hide his true feelings John had spent the past eighteen years of his life becoming an expert on recognizing the alpha's volatile and often unpredictable moods. So even when he was not speaking he could read him like a book.  
And the looks his father had been giving him lately, fiery stares filled with utter disgust, eyes squinting, lips pursed together tightly, spoke volumes. 

They were sitting in the castle's garden. With the chill of winter on the air the weather was not really ideal for it, but John was just glad to finally be outside again.  
He had been begging his father for some fresh air for weeks and today he had finally given in.  
He would just have to imagine the sun was there, somewhere, hidden behind a very depressing gray canopy of wispy clouds promising snowfall or, at least, an icy cold rain that seemed to cut and slice the skin where it fell. 

Today John welcomed it all. The cold biting at his nose and cheeks, the gloomy half-dark that seemed to linger no matter the hour of the day, even his father's domineering presence, constantly at his side. A guard-dog making sure his prisoner did not escape.  
After month's of having been locked up inside he didn't mind any of it.  
He was just glad to feel an actual breeze and to finally be allowed on the other side of the glass once more. 

He hoped his father had finally given in to his sons desperate pleas out of some shred of human decency, but he rather suspected the man was just trying a different tactic on him. After over two months of incarceration and detachment maybe he had realized this was getting him nowhere and now he was trying to see how far flattery and bribery were going to get him.  
That....or maybe the alpha in him was reacting to having a pregnant omega in the house. The natural instinct to protect and nurture taking over. So ingrained in his nature that he'd even go so far as to be gentle to the son he loathed and had disowned.  
With actual earth beneath his feet and no stone walls around him to cage him in John couldn't find it in himself to care. 

'What possible use could knowing his name be to you?', all the answer he gave his father. 

'Oh god, please tell me you know his name...'

'Of course I do.'  
A part of him felt embarrassed at this remark and as he felt his cheeks coloring a light shade of pink he quickly turned away his head and pretended it was the biting cold that was the cause of the reaction.  
He did know sherlock's name. Of course he did. He just didn't know his full name.... 

_I will tell you my full name once you have earned the right to know it_

He wished he had had more time to actually talk to Sherlock. He wished he hadn't left so quickly at the end of his heat.  
With both their heads hazy with pheromones it had been easy to give in to each other. Enjoy each other's bodies and take whatever pleasure they could get.  
But what had Sherlock really wanted? How real had it all been for him?  
After the heat had passed.....how much did he really, truly want John?  
Now, months later, doubt had crept into his mind through some back door left ajar. Opening further each day he was left alone, confined to his room, with nothing more to do than think. And every time his thoughts turned to Sherlock he found himself worrying more and more.

Here he was, bonded and pregnant, but his bondmate was nowhere to be found.  
He had no idea where Sherlock was. Was he still with the fairy-queen? Had he gone back to the meadow? And if he had gone back.....with John gone and not returning for months on end, what conclusions would he draw?  
Did he even want John to come back at this point? 

He closed his eyes for a second and pulled the blanket he had brought with him closer around his shoulders. Suddenly the world seemed to be a lot colder than it had been just moments before.  
His father had been talking to him again.  
Lost in thought he hadn't heard what had been said.  
His father hadn't seemed to notice and just carried on: 

'…...being pregnant at your age, with your alpha not even around. People will talk. My good name will be tarnished beyond repair. No other alpha will have you like this.'

'What makes you think I want another alpha?'

His father briefly clenched his fist. It was a small gesture. Blink and you'll miss it.  
John hadn't missed it.  
It had been a telltale sign that his father's rage was not gone. Not in the slightest. The current semblance of a small hint of kindness just a facade. It was still there, simmering beneath the surface. It was like a sleeping bear and if John kept poking it one of these days it would wake up and try and tear him to pieces.  
For now his father composed himself again. 

'You are not raising this bastard child on your own. We will lose the respect of the lords forever.'

Idly John stroked the small swell of his belly. It seemed to calm him down whenever he did. Calm enough to provoke the sleeping bear once more. 

'I don't care', he said. Matter of factly. 

His father said nothing for a good long while and John felt a small hint of excitement upon seeing the barely concealed rage that flickered in his father's eyes as he balled his fist again minutely. 

'There are other ways to get rid of the child', was what he finally said and the far too calm tone of voice he said it in made John's blood run cold. All the excitement he had felt before leaving him at once as, in a reflex, he now placed both hands on his stomach protectively. 

His father just looked at his sons hands and smirked. Suddenly reminding John of a shark. All teeth and cold, unfeeling calculation. Not a bear at all then, but another predator entirely that had slowly been circling him, hidden beneath the sea of false security that had been drawn up around him. Trying to find his weak spot. And now that it seemed to have found it, it sunk its teeth in deeper and deeper. 

'I know a man who lives a small bit to the north', the shark said, smirk widening, 'he knows how to get rid of unwanted pregnancies.  
He can take.....it.....out before it's even born and gets rid of it.......  
Saves me the trouble of having to do it myself.'

John felt cold all over. He felt as if he was treading water in a cold, dark and unfriendly ocean that had suddenly formed around him. A shark hidden beneath the dark waves that tried to close over his head. Trying to pull him into the depths until he no longer had any clue as to what was up or down.  
If he gave up and stopped swimming now he would surely drown.  
You're bluffing', he said. 

'Wait long enough and you'll find out if I am.'

'If you hurt my child.....'

'Then what, John? What will you possibly do? I am your father, your alpha and your lord and master in every sense of the word.  
I own you and you shall do as I say.  
You have disobeyed me long enough.  
So here are your options: either we get rid of your baby before it's born, simple as that, or you'll go through all the hassle of carrying it to term and delivering it and then I will kill it as soon as it's out. Either way, nobody needs to find out you got yourself knocked up and maybe...just maybe....we can get an alpha lord to marry an already bonded omega.  
The reign over all of my lands when they do has to count for something.'

Slowly John got up. It was hard to move when your limbs felt as if they were moving through water. He had heard enough. He felt like throwing up. 

'Where are you going, John?'

'Inside.'

'I thought you liked being outside.'

'I've changed my mind.'

***********

It was night. Had been for a while now. There was a full moon in the sky and, now that the gray clouds that had hung overhead so oppressively during the day had moved along, countless stars could be seen.  
John was looking out his bedroom window, staring at the stars but not really seeing them.  
His racing mind had been keeping him awake for hours. Returning to his father's words again and again. 

_we get rid of your baby_

John had known his father was a cruel man, capable of many things, but somehow he had not expected him to be quite this cruel.  
Some silly, hopeful part of him had thought his father would allow him to have his child.  
That, over time, his temper would calm down and John would be able to seek out Sherlock again.  
Of course that hadn't been the case. Of course not. How could he not have predicted the lengths his father would go to to secure a good political position. A bastard heir was pretty much the worst thing John could have done to him. 

However, things might not have been so bad if the father had been one of the nobles or a gentleman at least, but Sherlock..... what even was Sherlock?  
One of the fey?  
A wild shade.....bound to the meadow and the fairy-queen.  
If his father found out this little fact his rage would positively boil over and John's own life would be in danger too.  
Bonded to a magical creature..... who knows what that had done to him....to his blood....to the Watson lineage....or at least, that's how his father would see it.  
The identity of his alpha was the only card he still held. As long as his father didn't know he might still harbor some hope that John hadn't disgraced him in the way he most feared he had. 

He couldn't stay at Carterhaugh castle.  
His pregnancy was just a ticking time bomb ensuring his safety only until the baby was born.  
After that.... the child would be taken from him and killed and he himself.... he didn't want to think about that bleak future yet. None of the options were good.  
And that was only if his father had the patience to wait for 6 more months.  
With what he had seen in his father's eyes today in the garden he highly doubted his father could. 

He had to get out of here. 

But how?

And where could he go? 

To Sherlock? Would Sherlock even be at the meadow? And if he wasn't.....how much safety could the meadow still provide to him. He remembered what he had overheard the two fairies say last time he was there and shuddered.  
But still...last time he had to make a decision similar to this he had chosen the threat of his father over that of the fairies and look how that had worked out for him.  
Maybe he should choose the other option this time.  
What did he have to lose?

The night was eerily quiet around him.  
The stars in the sky seemed like fiery eyes watching him silently. Unblinking. 

If he were to leave, then why not now.  
**********

As silently as he could he dressed himself in the warmest clothes he had that still fit him now that his belly had gotten larger.  
He did not take much with him. Too much baggage would weigh him down, make his movements more cumbersome and increase the risk of him being caught.  
The only thing he brought with him was a dried red rose. As he stowed it away safely within the folds of his jacket he could almost smell the countless flowers that had been growing alongside it in spring and as he did so a small spark of hope blossomed in his chest.  
It had all seemed so long ago now. Another land in another time. 

His bedroom door was still locked and, although his father had allowed him some more liberties in an attempt to get his son on his side, giving John back his key was not one of them.  
He had to find another way out. 

John looked out the window again. 

It didn't seem that high. 

He looked at his bed. With the cold weather of the last few days he had been given a couple of extra blankets to stay warm.  
There was a tablecloth on the table in the corner.  
He looked at the curtains. With a good hard pull he would probably be able to get them down.  
He looked out of the window once more, judging the distance to the ground that lay beneath, hidden in the dark of the night. 

It didn't seem that high....

********  
John was halfway down the castle wall. His hands tightly gripping onto a makeshift rope comprised out of several bedsheets, a tablecloth and his bedroom curtains. Above him the window and its windowsill he had precariously hoisted himself over lost in the black midnight around him. He silently prayed the knot he had used to tie his makeshift rope to the bedpost would hold, that the different pieces of cloth haphazardly tied together would not come apart underneath his weight, that their combined length reached low enough...

Looking down below his feet he could still only see darkness as the fabric between his tightly gripping hands made an awful tearing sound..... 

John held his breath. 

The fabric held. 

He slowly descended further. 

**********  
Finally he reached the end of the last piece of cloth he had been able to tie on. He could now at least see the ground but it was still several feet below him. 

There was no going back now. 

Even if he had wanted to he wouldn't have been able to climb back up again. His arms were tired and his hands were cramping where they clung to his bedroom curtains just a little bit too tight.  
His breath came in short pants, forming small white clouds in the chilly night around him as his feet scrabbled for purchase on the uneven stonework of the castle's outer wall. 

Once more he looked down at the solid earth way down there, beyond his dangling feet.  
Then he closed his eyes, took one more deep, shaky breath and just.....let go. 

********  
His feet made contact with the frozen ground sooner than he had expected, but as soon as they did John bent his knees, letting his joints take most of the impact and rolled himself along the ground. 

The earth beneath his body was unrelenting, hard, cold and sand and weeds were sticking to his clothing and hair, but he hadn't felt this alive in months.  
If, in that moment, staying quiet had not been of the utmost importance he probably would have giggled, but for now he just turned his face towards the moon and stars and grinned the biggest grin he could muster as, seemingly in reply, for a brief moment one of the stars winked back at him. 

********  
From there it was just a short way to the stables. He saddled his horse as fast as he could.  
The animal just as happy to see him as he was to see it after so many months apart.  
It nuzzled its nose against its masters neck and blew warm breath in John's ear. 

John hoisted himself in the saddle. Riding with the added weight of pregnancy was a new experience altogether and it took some adjusting of his posture to find a position that was comfortable and would not make him lose his balance.  
And then, at long last, he was riding again, truly riding. The wind sweeping across his face once more, his horse's hooves thundering below him, making their mark on the frozen ground as the landscape seemed to fly by.  
It was then that John finally laughed out loud and once he started laughing he couldn't find it in himself to stop for quite some time. 

********

It was dawn when he finally reached the meadow. His pregnancy had prevented him from riding at full speed the entire way there. After a while the constant jostling of the baby in his belly had gotten uncomfortable and he had been forced to slow down.  
It didn't matter then anymore. He had done it. He had escaped. He was out. Away from Carterhaugh castle and from his father's iron dominion over him.  
He had escaped and he was never going back. 

But as soon as he stepped out on the meadow all the elation he had felt for the last couple of hours left him and an uncomfortable nervousness took its place.  
With the winter-sun just starting to rise over the horizon the meadow was shrouded in a sickly cold and pale light as the grass was covered in frost that had formed during the night.  
Everything around him seemed cold, pale and empty. There were no birds singing. They had all migrated south for the season. 

There was no Sherlock. 

Upon contact with the skin of his legs the frosted tips of the grass around him were starting to thaw somewhat. Releasing just a hint of color wherever he went, dampening the hem of his kilt in the process. 

He walked along the field aimlessly.  
Somehow he had been almost certain Sherlock would be here. He had not given much thought as to what he would do in the case he wasn't. The scenario too lonely and hopeless for his mind to dwell upon. 

But now the reality of it all sank in. 

Here he was.  
Alone.  
After a sleepless night spent riding his horse as fast as he could while the winter-night slid its cold, harsh fingers beneath his clothes and under his skin.  
Pregnant.  
Not a possession to his name apart form his horse that he had tied up, once again, at the usual spot along the tree line.  
In an enchanted meadow frequented by fairies. Who quite possibly wanted to enslave him. 

Lost in thought his aimless feet had carried him to the edge of the field. And, where the rest of the meadow was devoid of flowers and color now that winter had come along, he was surprised to still find some growing here, tucked away right at the point where meadow met tree, hiding between the roots of a large oak. 

Maiden's tear.

He had forgotten these flowers bloomed all year round.  
Their small blue petals sticking out defiantly amidst the white frost tipped vegetation around them.  
The only thing alive and awake as the rest of the meadow's plant-life lay dormant as it patiently waited for spring.  
The irony was not lost on John as he, once again, remembered what these little flowers could do.  
How many unfortunate omega's would have turned to these seemingly innocuous flowers in the hopes of terminating an unwanted pregnancy safely?  
How many might have died because of a miscalculation of the dose? 

Carefully he bent down and picked one of the flowers, turning it around between his fingers. 

'John?....what are you doing?'  
Sherlock's voice was unsure and there was even a hint of fear that clung to his words, but to John, today, it was the most glorious sound he had ever heard.  
Quickly he turned himself around to make sure he wasn't dreaming. And, sure enough, Sherlock was there. Just as he remembered him. A tall frame with slim, but firm muscles, raven curls that shone even in the light of the watery sun that had risen just moments before and two piercing blue eyes. Looking at him worryingly. Questioningly. 

Why was Sherlock so concerned?  
But as John saw the alpha's eyes quickly flick between his distended belly and the flower in his hand he understood.  
Did Sherlock honestly think he would harm their child?  
But then again....what was Sherlock even supposed to think..... they had hadn't seen each other in months. 

'Please', Sherlock continued and for a moment it seemed as if he wanted to reach out to John, but he reigned himself in at the last second.  
'Don't hurt our child. I beg you.'

'Where did you go.....after my heat?'  
Not a reply in any way, but they both had questions that needed answers. 

Sherlock hung his head dejectedly.  
'The fairy-queen', he said, 'she called for me again. I have to obey when she does. I come when she needs me.'

'I needed you.'

'I know.'

A long moment of silence passed. Made all the heavier by the absence of the sound of insects and birds that were usually present at the meadow.  
Today it was just them and the unspoken thoughts that hung heavy between them. 

It was John who, finally, started speaking first:  
'I would never hurt our baby.'

Sherlock sighed, relieved, and finally turned his eyes towards John again. This time a spark of hope could be seen in them. 

'I ran away.....from my father', John continued, 'I have nowhere to go but here.......that is......can I even stay here?'

'Of course, of course!', and this time Sherlock did touch John. The contact of fingers against his upper arm only barely there, but to John it felt as if he was set on fire as a warmth blazed through his chest. 

'But will you be able to stay with me?'

Again the look in Sherlock's eyes was one of sadness as he hung his head low once more. All his strength seemed to be draining from him.  
'I have bad news, John.'

John said nothing. Countless possibilities swam through his head of what this “bad news” could be and he wasn't sure he could bear hearing any of them. 

'Tomorrow night is All Hallows' Eve', Sherlock continued, 'on this night the fairy-queen and her consort ride back to their own kingdom taking a human servant with them. Once the human has passed to the other realm they will be stuck there forever. There will be no turning back. This time.....they will take me with them. I only have one night left here......with you.....I'm sorry, John.....I....'  
His voice broke off. 

'But I thought you were one of them too. One of the fey....', John's voice was soft. He had just regained his freedom only to have it result in losing Sherlock in just the span of a couple of hours. 

'I never said I was.'

'You never said you weren't.'

'I'm sorry, John.'

Another silence fell heavy between them before John could find it in himself to speak again.  
'Then don't go with them. Run away with me. We'll hide. We'll live together as exiles. I ran away too. We both have nowhere to go back to now. We could.....'

'As long as she had power over me I cannot leave this field except under her bidding.' 

'Then is there no way?'

Silence again and for a moment John thought Sherlock was not going to speak. That this was the last conversation they were to have.  
_I am made for misfortune_ he thought and suddenly the blue flower in his hand seemed not as desperate an option as it had before.  
But then Sherlock did speak again: 

'It is dangerous', he said and John's heart lifted as hope filled his chest. 

'I'm not afraid', he said as the blue flower fell from between his fingers and drifted slowly to the ground as he raised his hand and placed it on Sherlock's cheek. How he had missed this. The feeling of fair skin underneath his fingertips bringing him to life in a way he had almost forgotten. A dream from another season awoken once more. 

'The fairy-queen is powerful.'

'I am not afraid', he repeated again. The sound of his voice now strong, unwavering and determined. 'Not of her.....and certainly not of you.'  
There was a smile on his lips now. Forming at the thought of possibly, maybe, being able to have..... and as Sherlock's eyes met his a soft light shone from within them once more as an answering smile tugged at the corners of the alpha's Cupid's bow lips. 

'Maybe you should be', Sherlock said as, this time, he did extend both his hands and pulled John against him. Their foreheads once again close together as Sherlock's hands were held securely in the small of John's back and John's hands found their way into the raven curls he loved so dearly. 

'Are you planning to do something sneaky then?' John asked. Their lips only inches away from each other. 

'I would never make you do anything you didn't want.'

The familiar words were a balm to his soul and slowly he tipped his head up as Sherlock leaned in and as they kissed a piece of himself he hadn't even realized had been missing slid back into place and he was whole once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned to add the actual plan to free Sherlock in this chapter too, but it just got too long. As a result next chapter will probably be a long one too or maybe I'll split it in two....we'll see how it goes. 
> 
> As always: thank you very much for reading, giving kudos, subcribing, bookmarking and commenting. You have no idea how much this means to me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirk, mirk is this midnight hour.

There was a full moon in the sky. Every now and then wispy clouds slowly slid in front of it like ghost-ships made out of fog traversing the inky black of the night sky.  
John Watson was seated on top of his horse, hidden behind a large tree, using its shadow as a shroud to conceal him from anyone who would wander past.  
It was close to midnight and it was bitter cold. It was so cold that not even frost would form and the air around him crackled in his ears.  
His breath formed a small, white cloud where he breathed, joining the ghostly armada of clouds that drifted overhead.  
John cast his eyes up towards the moon. With it being a full moon the large clearing in the trees before him was bathed in a sickly white, unfeeling and altogether otherwordly light. It made him feel uneasy and restless.  
Underneath him his horse shivered and shifted its weight from its right front-leg to its left. The ground underneath its hooves, frozen solid, cracked under the pressure, forming lightning bolt patterns where it ripped and tore itself away.  
Not a breeze could be felt. Just stagnant cold. Clinging to both the horse and its rider. Clawing its way inside their bones and souls with icicle hands.  
It was as if the wind itself had frozen too. Fallen victim to the unforgiving arctic night, laying low somewhere deep underground, only returning to breathe life into the world when the days started lengthening once more.  
The world around them now seemed shrouded in silence as if it was holding its breath.  
Waiting.

John Watson was waiting as well. 

He was waiting for the fairy-queen and her company to make their appearance at the clearing between the trees that lay along their route to the fairy-lands.  
He was waiting to execute the plan Sherlock had carefully thought out. The plan to release Sherlock from the hold the queen had over him once and for all and bring him home. 

Suddenly, faintly, in the distance the sound of hooves striking the earth below in a mild canter drifted to his ears. Had the world around him not been so deathly quiet it would probably have taken him longer to pick up on it.  
He tightened his grip on the reins, his cold fingers stiff and cramping in protest after having been exposed to the winter-air for so long.  
His horse shifted its weight again as it blew out a large breath through its nose forming another ghost-cloud in the air. John silently patted its neck, trying to calm it. Even the normally warm horse hair underneath his hand felt dead and cold to the touch. 

The sound of hooves drew ever nearer. 

Between the trees the shape of a hooded rider on horseback could now be seen. There were about a dozen shapes moving behind it. Apart from the sound of their horses' hooves striking the earth they were deathly quiet. There were no whinnying horses, no soft mutterings of voices, there was nothing. All of the riders were cloaked and hooded, heads bent down low as they sat, unmoving. They all looked exactly the same.

John bent and flexed his fingers once more and as the first of the riders led their horse forward into the moonlit clearing he urged his horse to move backwards. Shrouding himself even further in the dark shadow cast by the tree. 

_This is it_ , he thought and as the line of silent riders came ever nearer still he strained his eyes on their figures unblinking and held his breath.  
Waiting.

Searching.

*********

'She will no doubt call for me tonight as well and I fear she will not release me again before All Hallows' Eve so we don't have much time', Sherlock had said. 

Once they had started kissing time had seemed to not exist anymore. It had been as if they had stepped outside of the normal, mundane world and had made themselves a splendid universe all their own.  
Each of them a planet that orbited the other as if they were the sun. Surrounding themselves with warmth and light, blinding them to all else around them. 

But far too quickly the outside world had made itself known again. Creeping into their private place where it was not wanted. But, however much they might not want it there, they could no longer ignore it. Sherlock's abduction to the fairy-realm hung over their bright world like a dark, ominous moon. Eclipsing all warmth and happiness the nearer it came. 

Plans had to be made.  
Quickly. 

They were sitting together in their cave once again. Instead of the oil lamp Sherlock had lit an actual fire in the far corner. The flickering of the flames caused shadows to dance over his face. Dipping in the space between his lips and chin, casting black pools underneath his eyes, sliding beneath his collar and dancing across his cheeks. John was mesmerized.  
Every now and then Sherlock cast his eyes down at John's belly and a soft and tender expression would form on his face.  
Whenever John caught it a warmth completely unrelated to the fire ignited inside his chest.  
He had all he had ever wanted within reach. He just needed to know how to keep it. 

'On All Hallows' Eve the queen and her consort will ride on horseback on a set route to the fairy-lands', Sherlock continued, 'once the horses start riding they will not stop so you will have to be vigilant and act quick.'

John nodded as he watched the light of the fire reflect off of Sherlock's curls.  
If anything was to go wrong. If somehow this plan did not work. He wanted to keep this moment in his memory exactly as it was now. Them. Together. Warm and comforted. Sheltered within the cave where he had lain with Sherlock so many months ago. Where the harsh outside world did not seem to belong. 

'If you want to save me and keep me as your own you need to pull me from my horse and not let go of me no matter what.'

John frowned a bit at Sherlock's explanation. 'That doesn't sound too difficult....'

'We will all be under a spell. I estimate there will be just a little bit over a dozen riders there. We will all be hooded, hiding our faces, and we will be unable to move or speak of our own free will. There will be no way for you to discern which rider I am and if you were to pull down the wrong rider.....you do not get a second attempt. I will be lost forever.'

Both of them were silent for a while. The only sound the crackling of the fire in the corner. John found it strangely comforting. 

'But you have a plan.....right?' he finally asked. 

Sherlock smirked, looking downright mischievous and if they had not been so pressed for time John would have kissed him again. 

'Of course I do'. 

***********

The plan was simple.  
All the riders would be dressed the exact same, a dark cloak with a dark hood hiding any discernible features, and a magic spell would prevent Sherlock from conveying his true identity to John through speech or movement. 

'All the horses that belong to the queen are brown or black', Sherlock had said, smirk still firmly in place and John had folded his hands over his belly in order to keep himself from giving in to the urge to just reach for Sherlock and wrap himself around him.  
'All the horses except for one.....there is one white horse ….which is mine.'

John was smiling too now. 

'So all I have to do is pull down the rider seated on the white horse?'

Sherlock nodded, the movement casting entirely new shadows on his face and the walls around them.  
'The queen will not take defeat lightly though', he continued. His voice growing more serious again, 'once you have hold of me you cannot let me go until she is completely out of sight. She will try and use every magic spell she knows to get you to release your hold so she can get me back, but as long as you hold me tight I will not harm you and neither can she..... remember this John.'

Now it was John's turn to nod, but before he could add any words to the gesture, quite suddenly, Sherlock had reached for him. Folding him into a harsh embrace as he hid his face in the crook of John's neck and inhaled sharply. 

'If you hold me tight.....all will be fine.'

John wasn't sure if Sherlock meant then.....or now.  
It didn't matter.  
He wrapped his own arms around his lover as well, closed his eyes and held on tight.  
And just for a moment, all was fine. 

*********  
The first rider that moved into the moonlit clearing rode a black horse.  
After the first rider there came three more riding abreast. Two on brown horses and the third on a black horse. Two more riders on brown horses followed. Another three. Then four. All of them rode darkly colored mounts.  
As they rode out from under the trees and into the open the light of the full moon hit the polished metal of their horses bits and the buckles of their boots and belts and just for a moment John thought the earth and sky had turned themselves around and the line of silent, motionless riders was now gliding along amidst the stars. 

He closed his eyes tightly for a second and shook his head to clear his mind from the spell.  
When he opened them again the last rider moved onto the clearing.  
Another hooded figure, sat motionless atop a horse, with their head bowed low.  
Only this figure rode a milk-white horse. 

_Sherlock_

His heart beat so loud in his chest he was almost certain the riders would hear it, look in his direction and all would be lost, but the riders just rode on in the same determined pace. None of them looked anywhere but at their hands on the reins. None of them seemed to have noticed anything at all. 

John gripped his own reins tighter still, took a deep breath, put his heels to the flanks of his horse sharply and shot out into the clearing. 

Time seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time as John galloped his horse towards the bent figure on the white steed.  
As his own horses' hooves beat the icy moonlit soil beneath the sound thundered loudly in the eerie silence that had been all encompassing justs moments before. In their steady cadence that seemed to beat in time with his heart he could hear one word and one word alone. Repeated over and over and over..... 

_Sherlock_

_Sherlock_

_Sherlock_

The faster his horse ran, the closer he got and the louder his heart beat and the more he was starting to feel that something was wrong.....terribly, horribly wrong.  
He looked at the figure atop the white horse. He seemed exactly the same as the others, but......but what? 

He reined in his horse slightly, squinting his eyes, and looked again.  
None of the riders seemed to have even noticed him. They still rode on in the same formation, heads low, reins tightly gripped in unmoving fingers....

Surely the fairy-queen would try and stop him before he even got a chance to get to Sherlock.....wouldn't she? 

He had almost reached the rider on the white horse now. A few more paces, a few more seconds and he could stretch out his arm and pull Sherlock from his horse, hold him tight and keep him forever......but......somehow......it still felt wrong....

And then he saw it. 

He was amazed it had even taken him this long to realize....

Sure the figure had their head bent down low like the others, shoulders hunched, but he knew Sherlock, knew his body, intimately.  
What he saw before him was not the set of Sherlock's shoulders, this was not the bend of his lovers head.... he looked closer.....he knew the grip of Sherlock's fingers, how they felt as they left marks on his naked skin, what they looked like as they held on tight.  
These were not Sherlock's hands.  
This was not Sherlock. 

Had his heart seemed to beat too fast just moments before it seemed to have stopped entirely now. 

Of course....the fairy-queen knew about him. He had heard the two fairies talk about him specifically months before. She might have expected something like this and so she had taken away the only thing that would make Sherlock stand out in this magical gathering. 

First John felt fear, then grief for the loss that might follow suit, then anger. 

He pulled his horse sharply to the right, bringing it to a standstill. For a moment the rider on the white horse and himself were side by side and then the rider moved on. Following the others. 

_no, no, no, no, no.....it cannot end like this!_ he thought as his eyes scanned the group of riders before him, but all he could see were their cloaked backs. Effectively hiding any features that might hint to him which one of these figures was Sherlock. 

John spurred his horse on again. Following the silent group. 

His heart had started up again, but it seemed to have moved away from his chest to his throat where it now beat irregularly and made it hard for him to breathe. 

His eyes scanned the group of similar cloaked figures once more. The first rider had already reached the end of the clearing. Once the horses moved inside of the tree-line again the dense trees would make it very hard for him to position himself alongside one of the figures. Let alone pull one of them down from their horse. 

The riders moved forward still. A cloud drifted in front of the moon clothing the world in darkness and, for a few precious moments, making it hard to see.  
John cursed under his breath.  
And then he saw it.  
A figure in the front, riding a black horse....as the moon once again emerged from behind the cloud its light reflected off of the only bit of color in the entire scene.  
It was well hidden, but John's scanning eyes had found it. Amidst the folds of this riders cloak there was a splash of red.  
John wasn't quite close enough to see what it was exactly, but he knew without a doubt it was a red rose. 

And then he saw the arch of the figures back and he remembered how it had felt underneath his hands as the body it belonged to had bent over him. Peppering kisses on his cheeks and eyelids.  
How those fingers, now grasping reins, had once traced lines across his abdomen igniting a fire inside of him that still burned brightly.  
How those thighs, now spread on either side of the horse's back, had looked in between his own. How the faint scattering of hairs on them felt underneath his searching fingertips. How firm they felt when their muscles strained.  
How had he not known sooner? He would recognize him anywhere. Cloak him, pull a hood over his face, it would make no difference.  
He had been so fixed on finding a white horse that he had failed to see what was right in front of him. 

_Sherlock_ he whispered. 

Sherlock was moving away from him in a steady pace.  
He was too far away.  
He had wasted too much time.  
However hard he rode, he would not reach him before the unyielding line of trees would swallow him up and the queen of the fairies would carry him away forever. 

And then John remembered something else...

****************  
'I have one more thing for you', Sherlock had said.  
It was late in the day, the sun had almost set. John would be leaving soon. Finding a place near the meadow to spend the night. The fairies could not know he was here.  
He would see Sherlock again tomorrow night. Save him. And then have him forever.  
Still, the thought of leaving Sherlock now tore through his chest like an arrow aimed straight for his heart and once it had lodged itself there it would not leave until the tender hands of his lover gently coaxed it out of him again.

John had looked at Sherlock questioningly. 

From within the folds of his clothing Sherlock had produced a dagger, the blade reflecting the dancing flames of the fire, making it appear almost alive. 

'Here, take it.'

'I thought no mortal weapon could harm a fairy?' John had been very confused. 

Sherlock had smiled a sad smile that John never ever wanted to see on his lovers face ever again for as long as they both lived.  
'It's not for her', he had said. 

'No....', his own voice had sounded foreign to his ears as it broke on the word. 

'Please take it, John.... If things go wrong...'

John had wanted to interject. Deny even the possibility of such a thing happening. But Sherlock had just raised his hand, silencing him effectively. 

' _If_ something goes wrong', he had said again, 'I don't want to spend the rest of my life as a slave to the fairy-queen with no hope of ever seeing you again.  
If... _if_ it comes to that....I wish for you to kill me.'

'You cannot mean that....'  
'John', here Sherlock had taken both of his hands in his. It had felt like a goodbye, 'to live forever without you would be a fate worse than death.'

John had taken the dagger. 

********************  
John looked out over the clearing and the silent riders on their horses, gradually moving away. A dagger was in his hand. 

With another swift kick John spurred on his horse in the direction of the black horse. 

_Sherlock_

He drew back his arm and the dagger in his hand glinted in the moonlight. 

_Sherlock_

He flung his arm forward again, releasing the dagger, flinging it towards the rider with the red rose. 

John spurred his horse on to go even faster. 

As the dagger sailed through the black night-sky the light of the moon glinted off of its metal surface making the object appear as if it was a silver ship, sailing straight and true amidst the ghost-like clouds as it sought out its aim. 

John rode faster still. 

With a soft thud the dagger pierced flesh.  
Blood flowed.  
The black horse's front leg buckled underneath it where the dagger had cut through the tendon John had aimed it at.  
The horse stopped.  
John sped up.  
Everything seemed to be happening all at once then. 

*********

The body held tightly in his arms felt familiar, it felt like home. Even before the hood fell away, revealing the face he had so longed to see, exposing raven curls and sea-blue eyes John knew he had made the right choice. 

He landed on the ground on his back rather ungracefully as Sherlock's body toppled on top of him, only catching himself at the last moment, bracing both his arms next to John's head so as to avoid crushing the growing baby in his belly.  
John wrapped his arms around him even tighter as he closed his eyes and buried his nose in the alpha's neck. Taking deep breaths, the scent of his bond-mate comforting and calming him.

 _If you hold me tight.....all will be fine._

Behind him he heard an enraged scream. The sound of it reminding him of shattering glass, lightning striking and hearts breaking all at once.  
It was the fairy-queen.  
It was she who had ridden the white horse in an attempt to trick the lovers and send them both to their doom.  
She had thrown her hood back and she was waving her hands in the air wildly as she muttered spells. Sending them through the icy night-sky to wreak their horrible havoc upon them. 

Sherlock's eyes were filled with fear.  
John was not afraid. He had his lover in his arms. He would not let go.  
His grip onto Sherlock where they still lay on the frozen soil so tight that that his knuckles turned white and he could feel the firm and familiar muscles underneath the layers of clothing. 

Sherlock opened his mouth, seemingly about to speak, but before he could get a single word out the spell reached them, descending upon them like a black rain, and the body in John's arms started changing.  
Where he had held on to clothing moments before there was now fur.  
His fingers sinking down through it until they made contact with a completely foreign body.  
The face in front of him no longer the familiar one he had gazed at lovingly so many times before as it morphed into something else entirely. 

Where there had once been a soft cupids bow there was now an elongated snout, lips drawn back in a vicious snarl revealing a set of sharp teeth.  
The radiant blue eyes had drifted further apart and now had a yellow hue to them.  
John was staring into the face of a wolf.  
The paws of the creature on either side of his head where, moments before, Sherlock's hands and arms had been.  
Its mouth was opened, a large tongue lolled around inside as saliva dripped from its teeth onto his face. All the while the creature growled ferociously as its jaws snapped shut only inches from his cheeks.  
He gripped the gray fur tightly and closed his eyes. 

The creature growled again. Louder this time. For a second John thought he could hear words in the growls and barks the wolf produced, but all too soon the fairy-queen lifted her hands to the moon and sent a different spell their way.  
Again it drifted towards them and John felt it settle over them and as it did the wolf seemed to grow larger and larger underneath his hands.  
Its muscles going from lean to big bulky masses he could only barely hold between his arms as the body stretched wider and wider still.  
The fur going from soft to course and short and, John saw as he carefully opened his eyes a small bit, acquiring a brown color.  
The long snout shortened, but the wolf-head itself became larger, matching the size of the enormous body he now held, as the snarling wolf was transformed into a growling bear.

The bear shook him left and right with a strength matching its size, making him slide across the ground and John had to clamp both his legs tightly against the sides of the body of the beast so as not to get thrown of.  
He held on tight.  
The bear growled and once again he thought he heard words, but, again, he could not make out what they were. 

The fairy-queen screamed. Enraged. The sound of her voice so piercing it felt like hot needles making their way inside his ears where it reached them. John almost let go to cover his ears with his hands in an attempt to drown out the almost unbearable stinging pain. But still he held on.  
And once again the queen sent her dark magic towards Sherlock and himself. 

The creature in his arms changed a third time.  
More and more fur was forming underneath his desperately grasping fingers as the body between his thighs seemed to get smaller.  
This time the bear transformed into a roaring lion.  
And, just like before, the creature struggled and snapped at him. Roaring so loud that the sound shook his chest and rattled his bones.  
John took two handfuls of mane and wrapped the long hair around his fingers.  
He could now almost make out the words hidden beneath the ferocious snarls. 

Almost....

The fairy-queen screamed one more time, but the sound was not as close as it had been before and it seemed to have lost some of its power.  
Behind the lion's right ear John could see that her white horse had reached the trees and was moving between them inexorably. 

For the first time that night he felt actual hope rise in his chest as the shape in his arms changed one final time. 

This time he recognized what it was instantly.  
The soft flesh underneath his fingers of the naked body he now held unmistakable. He had held it so many times before.  
The dark curls, although wild and unkempt at the moment, the same ones he had stroked his fingers through so lovingly not long ago.  
The blue eyes that shone with a light of their own and reminded him of highland waters, pure and bright.  
The curve of the Cupid's bow lips he had covered with his own and would do so again once Sherlock stopped speaking.

This time he could make out the words that seemed to flow like water from his lovers lips. 

'Hold me tight and fear me not, hold me tight and fear me not, hold me tight and fear me not........'

 _Hold me tight and fear me not_

John held on tight and gently kissed him. Letting the words, repeated over and over like a prayer, flow into his own mouth as their lips moved together. And with them he swallowed away the pain, sorrow and worry that had been at their heels for so long now. 

He held on tight and as the fairies moved away between the trees, never to be seen again, the moon bathed the clearing in brilliant white light. An island of moonbeams just for the two of them where sorrow could no longer enter.

And he was not afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see there will now be one more chapter to this story.  
> I keep on writing way more than I initially intend.....
> 
> Some story lines need to be wrapped up. John's father in particular, Sherlock's true identity and then there's something about a baby.....
> 
> As usual I would like to thank everyone who's been with me on this journey from the bottom of my heart.  
> I really did not think anybody would read this when I started out and lo and behold it actually has kudos now and people have been saying some very nice things!
> 
> So: thank you very, very much. It's because of you I've actually stuck through with this.
> 
> (And some "fun" info for those not familiar with the actual story of Tam Lin: in the original ballad Tam Lin does ride the white horse and that is how Janet knows it's him)


	9. Epilogue

In the bitter cold of midwinter Sherlock could only stay unclothed for so long.  
Much sooner than John would have liked they had to let go of each other and John had taken the blanket that was draped over his horse's back and he had wrapped Sherlock in it tightly.  
The fairy-horse Sherlock had ridden was nowhere to be seen.  
Wounded or not it had been so completely enchanted by the spell that had been put upon it that it had still followed its mistress to the lands that lay beyond along with the other horses and riders.  
For a moment John wondered who they had been.  
Had they been fairies or mortals like Sherlock? With friends, families and lovers they now left behind? Had they ridden in the queen's consort of their own volition or had they been under the same spell as Sherlock had been?  
But then Sherlock had shivered again and John's mind was at once pulled back to their current situation. They needed to find Sherlock some actual clothes to wear...and fast.  
But where the look John bore was one of concern, Sherlock just gave him a radiant smile as the light of the moon reflected in his eyes and placed stars in their depths.  
Hesitantly John smiled back at him.  
Surely Sherlock had a plan. 

**********

As it turned out Sherlock had some of his old clothes hidden away in the cave on the meadow.  
He had sent John out to find them while he himself waited at the edge of the meadow with the horse.  
Even though the spell over him seemed to be broken he was still very hesitant to set foot on what had, effectively, been his prison for so many years.  
John understood but after almost losing him it was hard to leave him behind and go out on his own, even if it was for just a short moment.  
He heaved a sigh of relief when he came back, clothes in hand, and found Sherlock still standing there. Huddled close to his horse for warmth. Silhouetted by the gathering dawn behind him. 

The clothes looked good on Sherlock. A pair of tight fitting trousers, a white shirt with waist-coat, riding boots and a nice and warm blue jacket and scarf.  
It all looked rather expensive.  
John would ask him about it later.  
They had somewhere to go first. 

**********

John wished he had a way to preserve the look on his father's face when he saw his belligerent son walk back into Carterhaugh castle after having somehow vanished from it just days before with a strange alpha by his side. 

At first it seemed as if he didn't know what to say. His mouth opening and closing a couple of times as if he was trying to form words but had quite forgotten how to speak.  
In the end he seemed to have decided to talk to the other alpha in the room and completely ignore his omega son. 

'I do not think I've seen you before, sir', he said. Tone haughty, but also a bit unsure as he looked Sherlock over, bewildered as to what to make of the unknown alpha wearing expensive clothes, but at the same time looking a wild mess. Hair unkempt, mud on his boots, dirt on his face and hands from when he had lain on the forest floor with John clinging to him desperately and a look in his eyes that defied interpretation. 

'I suppose not', Sherlock's curt reply. 

John's father wasn't quite sure how to continue and after an uncomfortable moment of silence he decided to go a different route.  
'Are you John's alpha?' he asked. 

'Indeed I am his', Sherlock said. 

'Then will you at least show me, as alpha of the household, the respect of telling me your name.'

Sherlock just sighed and rolled his eyes. The answer he gave directed to John and not his father as he turned his head to his omega-mate and held his gaze unblinking.  
'My name is Sherlock Holmes.'

John's father audibly gasped.  
'Surely not _the_ Holmes.....'

John had heard of the Holmes family. There probably wasn't a single soul alive in Scotland who hadn't. They owned pretty much....everything. Rich beyond your wildest dreams, more land to their name than all of the lands of the other lords combined and, it was rumored, Holmes senior was even called on as an adviser by the kings and queens of foreign nations.  
The family had kept to themselves after their alpha son had mysteriously vanished years ago.  
When he was younger his father had even used the misfortune of the Holmes' to try and keep John from wandering outside.  
'If even a wealthy, strapping, young alpha can disappear like that what do you suppose a weak and soft omega like you will be able to do out there?' he had said.  
At the moment John couldn't keep himself from smiling.  
_Apparently_ , he thought, _weak and soft omegas like him ended up rescuing wealthy, strapping young alphas like that_. 

His father seemed positively star-struck now.  
'Not to seem bold, sir', he said, 'but how on earth has my John been able to land the good fortune of you choosing him?'

Sherlock's eyes were still on John and as the sentence coming from his father's mouth wore on he could see the expression on his face turn sour.  
John shared that sentiment wholeheartedly.  
He felt it was finally time to speak for himself. 

'He didn't choose me. I chose him', he said, staring his father down.  
The look on Sherlock's face softened instantly upon hearing John's words.  
'Your son is brave and kind and I owe my life to him. I will never be able to repay such a debt, but I will spend a lifetime trying', the words were spoken to John once more as Sherlock still held his gaze, 'he has won me from the fairy-queen and from this day forward I shall be his to command. My life and heart belong to him and him alone and I offer them up freely because I know he will treat them with kindness and love.'

John wanted to reply, but his father beat him to it.  
'This is unheard of!'

'You must not be a very good listener then.'  
Had Sherlock's words been soft and loving before they had nothing but sharp edges now. His father recoiled slightly at the sound of them. 

'I will gladly give you his hand in marriage if that is what you've come here to ask for...' the older alpha tried. 

Beside him John felt Sherlock positively vibrate with barely contained rage but, as much as he would like to see his mate rend his father apart with words made out of knives he felt he should speak for himself once more and so he did:

'We have not come here to ask your permission for anything', he said, 'I am not yours to give. I am mine and mine alone. I have chosen to give myself to Sherlock and in return he has given himself to me. For over eighteen years you have never once cared for me or been there for me so don't expect any courtesy from me now.  
The only reason we are here at all is to gather the last of my things I wish to take with me when we go and make a life together somewhere far away from this place.  
Today will be the last time you will ever see me. If there is something you wish to say to me still I suggest you do it now, because this will be the last chance you'll ever get.'

His father and Sherlock were both silent after John's speech, but where his father seemed confused and uncertain now that he no longer held any power over his son, Sherlock radiated nothing but barely contained pride. 

After a moment of silence his father made to step forward, almost as if he was going to embrace John, but at the last moment he halted his movements and ended up just laying an awkward hand on his shoulder.  
John felt like shrugging it off immediately, but a part of him was still giving his father the benefit of the doubt and so he endured the gesture and waited silently for what, in the end, his father had to say. 

'John', the word was spoken soft, privately, an attempt to keep Sherlock from overhearing, 'put in a good word with the Holmes family for me.'

In his mind and heart he felt doors closing he had probably kept open for far too long. 

'Goodbye father', he said. 

*********

**One year later**

John groaned as the sound of a baby crying woke him from his sleep. The room was pitch black and through the window only a couple of stars could be seen. The moon and most of their brothers and sisters veiled by a thick blanket of clouds.  
The bed was nice and warm and the sleeping alpha behind him, his arm draped over John's hip protectively, a comforting presence. 

Well....”sleeping” alpha anyway.  
By now John knew very well when Sherlock was faking it. 

'Sherlock?' he whispered in the hushed silence of their bedroom. 

There was no reply. Just the sound of the alpha's slow, rhythmic breathing. 

'Sherlock, it's your turn', he tried again. This time accompanied by a prod with his elbow in his mate's lower abdomen. 

Sherlock replied with some pretty impressive fake snoring. 

John giggled. 

'Stop giggling, John. I'm sleeping.'

'You can't talk when you're asleep, Sherlock.'

The arm around him tightened just a fraction as Sherlock groaned and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. 

'When will she stop waking us up?' Sherlock's breath was a warm presence at the top of his spine and, even though the rest of him was still half asleep, John felt his cock stir as the alpha pressed himself even closer to him.

'When you get up and make her go back to sleep', he replied. 

Sherlock groaned again and all of a sudden the warm body behind him was gone as Sherlock made his way to the adjacent bedroom where their baby slept.  
John pulled the blankets around him tightly. Surrounding himself with the smell of his alpha that still lingered in the warm bedding. 

He smiled as he heard Sherlock talk to their baby in hushed tones.  
He was doing what he always did when she was not in need of changing or food, but just needed calming down.  
He was telling her a story.  
John loved Sherlock's stories and in the dark of the bedroom he listened along.  
It was a story he knew all too well.  
It had sadness in it and scary bits and fairies and magic.... and love....it was their story.  
'Now, little one', he heard Sherlock say as the baby's sobs slowly quieted down, 'there may be scary parts in this now and then but rest assured, it has the happiest of endings.'

Listening to his husband's baritone voice with nothing around him but warm blankets and the comforting darkness of their bedroom was making John drowsy and so he was already fast asleep again when a warm body crept back in to bed behind him, two warm arms encircled him and held him tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it then....I think....  
> I really hope everybody who has been reading along has enjoyed the journey and, if nothing else, has gained an interest for the source material.  
> Honestly, Tam Lin and indeed all of the Child's ballads are amazing and are worth checking out. 
> 
> I really, really, really would like to thank everyone who has read, given kudos, commented, bookmarked or subscribed. I had not even expected to have one person reading this.  
> It is honestly because of the interest this little story seemed to have garnered that I kept on writing on it.  
> So thank you all from the bottom of my heart and I hope I have done this story justice.
> 
> (If you like you can visit me on Tumblr. I'm Vanimelda4 there as well)


	10. Extra Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry if you were expecting another chapter.  
> There is just so much more I want to say about Tam Lin, the process of writing this story and some of the points where I tried to weave the original in.  
> This is basically a list of extra notes that didn't belong to any specific chapter or that would ruin the plot if I added them.  
> I've gone back and forth on adding these so many times but, who knows, maybe someone out there would like to read them and if not you can just skip it.
> 
> (Disclaimer: I am no scholar on this subject. I'm not even a native English speaker. I just love folklore, fairies and Scotland. So if I get anything wrong by accident, please don't hate me for it.

# The original characters in the ballad are Janet (in some versions Margaret) and Tam Lin. In my story they are, respectively, John and Sherlock. 

# The story and ballad both take place in Carterhaugh which is an actual area in Scotland. It is situated in the border region near Selkirk.

# John's kilt gets mentioned on several occasions in my story. Part of the reason I'm doing this is because the story is set in Scotland and men in kilts are super hot, BUT another reason is this line in the original text: 

_”Janet has kilted her green kirtle a little aboon the knee”_

This line gets repeated several times. The repeated mention of the kilt is a nod to that.  
(A kirtle is not the same as a kilt though. It is a medieval one piece garment worn by men and women). 

# I adore Janet in the original story. Janet pretty much does whatever the hell she wants. Without a doubt she is the heroine in this tale who hoists up her kirtle and gets shit done.  
Tam Lin himself is rather useless (don't get me wrong, I love him anyway). He gets himself in his current predicament because he literally falls from his horse while out hunting and the queen of fairies catches him.....wow.....well done Tam.....well done....

So instead of a hero we have a strong heroine and I felt a bit guilty replacing her with another male character in my version. But given that this plays in an ABO setting John is still the “weaker” sex who, in the end, saves the entire day.  
So there's that....I hope you can all forgive me. 

# On the subject of women: in chapter 1, when John meets Sherlock for the first time he is holding the double rose in his hands (also a reference to the original text: _”She had na pu'd a double rose, a rose but only twa.”_ ) and he briefly mentions he feels like a maid clutching at flowers. I put this in because, in the original, Janet is, of course, a maid. 

# In the ballad Janet and Tam Lin sleep together on their first meeting. This is kind of Tam Lin's thing: 

_”There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh_  
_But they leave him a wad_  
_Either their rings, or green mantles,_  
_Or else their maidenhead.”_

But since I had multiple chapters to work with I felt I had space and time to flesh out their relationship a bit more. 

# Any magical powers Sherlock has are not in the text. They are purely my own invention. However: Tam Lin does only seem to appear when Janet starts pulling up the local flora. So I guess his powers of disappearing are kind of my interpretation of that. 

# The flower that induces abortion is in the text, but it doesn't have a name. I thought it needed one so I made one up. In the ballad Janet contemplates taking it but I felt it would be out of character for John to seriously consider abortion. 

# Janet's father is a complete pushover. Maybe because Janet herself is such a strong character, but she certainly did not inherit that from him.  
He basically let's her roam around and catch strange, sexy fairy-men whenever she likes.  
My version of the father is completely different. Again: because I had a longer story to work with and, since the queen does not come in until the very end and does very little besides turn Tam Lin/Sherlock into a couple of different animals, give up when this does not seem to work, curse at the both of them and leave. I felt a second antagonist that was there for the entire story was needed. 

# In the ballad Tam Lin does ride the white horse and it helps Janet recognize him amidst the other knights.  
In my version I wanted to put a twist on this so Sherlock ends up not riding the white horse, but in chapter one John does see a deer with a white pattern in its coat he is unable to catch. This is sort of a hint to the ending. A bit of a far fetched reference, but this is how my brain works sometimes. 

# In chapter 6 Sherlock and John are in the middle of sharing John's heat in their little cave and John wishes the moss they're lying on was a soft bed in a house of their own.  
Lo and behold! In the epilogue they are actually lying in a bed together in a house of their own. Who says wishes don't come true.

# In the ballad Tam Lin is not being taken to the fairy realm, but he is going to be sacrificed to hell on Halloween as part of the fairy tithe. Tithe is the best word ever and I tried so hard to work it in but I couldn't seem to do it. I'm still sad about this. 

# Chapter 8 starts with a description of the night sky and how the clouds are like ships. This is a homage to another favorite poem of mine. “The highwayman” by Alfred Noyes (1880 – 1958). The first two lines of this poem go:

_”The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,  
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.”_

And if those are not some of the best lines of poetry you've ever read then I don't know what to tell you....

# The summary of chapter 8 (Mirk, mirk is this midnight hour) is another nod to some favorite poetry of mine. It is the first line of “Lord Gregory” by Robert Burns.  
But Tam Lin does have a line similar to it:  
_”At the mirk and midnight hour”_  
So it is basically a nod to both.....a double nod if you will. 

# There are a LOT of different versions of the Tam Lin ballad and so there are also a lot of different versions of the transformation scene at the end. In one version Tam Lin's “final form” is a burning coal which Janet drops in a well and this ends up saving him.  
I'm just really into animals and not so much flaming lumps of coal so I stuck with the animal motif. 

# As far a Tam Lin's true identity goes: in some versions it gets revealed, in others it doesn't. I just went my own merry way here. 

# Oh, and the title of this story is of course also taken from Tam Lin. The original line is:  
_"Hold me fast and fear me not"_

I've had such a wonderful time writing this story and it's been great seeing people react so positively to it or even seek out the source material!  
I've been contemplating turning another folktale or poem into a re-imagining of my own.  
Keats' “La belle dame sans merci” has been swimming through my head for the last couple of days, but I'm not sure yet....we'll see....I have other works in progress to finish first....maybe. 


	11. Extra: art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Tam-Lin / Sherlock drawing I made ages ago.....but never quite got around to finishing.   
> I think I've lost the original somewhere but the digital version remains.


End file.
